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Low Water
-
Consuela
No pressure
no clues
but no lesser
the blues
i'm walkin' on
eggshells
wearin' sensible shoes
my dark ways
my half-crimes
my big sways
my last times
i'm turning stock phrases
into gold-
spun rhymes
and the dust that it raises
blurs and borderlines
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well i'd rather be a street sign
or a tightrope wire
than the stretch
of road
that runs between the spires
we got threads to bare
now
that the prayers have been prayed
we got treads to wear
now
that the fares have been paid
consuela, would you name this
desperation? /the line between the sea and sand can be our
destination...
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