Slip inside this house    the road inside the road

Where the burdock & weevil    seem a chattering

Of what is really here    a dead ground, swollen

With the late sounds of war    the religious right

The bridges to Babylon    Tuscumbia & so many

Red lights set like Stations of the Cross    a holy

Victual like "Holy smokes, Batman!!!"    how far

We are from heaven    it’s a manner of measure

A mere chattel of time, to us    what difference?

Put a good foot forward    the highway opens

Up a little    slip inside this house, this road this

Tiptoed through tulips    & tell me what you see