What fools these men who dream these simple worldly dreams,
hedonistic heathens for whom no heaven bodes
nor peace-safe place on earth.
Let the visions, like the minds of angels
find flight in the folly of your mind;
let pure thoughts run where degenerate thoughts unwind.
Find the time. Find the time.
We whirl near the precipice of your life
like the needle running backward in the record groove
dangerously toward the deceptive felt edge
that won’t be soft.
My dog inches closer to me as I am the safeness in his life;
the comforter, the god who knows the answers for his soul.
Pity us man, if my God, should know so few answers
as I hold for him.