by Ron Eller

She trembles in waiting and lies to keep the dogs off. • Quietly builds her wall, the detractors scoff. • Like a bricklayer, she sweats in the afternoon heat. • Brick by brick, • the walls surround her garden court. • The work never done, never complete. • Peekers peek through the peep holes. • They steal the bricks for sport. • It's hard to carry bricks in torn paper sacks. • I do love her, although I've let go absolutely. • The time keeper is asleep. • Like time she moves much too fast, • and scorns the fools who would stop her. • A magic moment to keep, they are confounded. • She dashes away, by this truth we are surrounded. We are free if we only try. • She tries, God how she tries. • The thieves still steal the bricks • and the ministers judge from foreign lands, • hold their edicts in their clammy hands, • pissing in these snow white sands. • The alkie, the addict, the addict, the alkie. • Our disease progresses, • she just dropped in, • the artist confesses. • Dead on arrival the vamp professes. • It could not have been planned better. • The cosmic joker must have written the letter. • How it happened doesn't really matter. • It's okay. • Watch the thieves play, • stealing bricks from court yard walls, • cheating the foreign ministry. • Tomorrow if it's too dreary to play, • that's okay. • We’ll do it another day.

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