Treading lightly on the soft highway Searching onward for the Earthbound divinity Through the desert with the primal scream Broken decibels ring out, yet amount to infinity
Silver pistol tucked in drawer of hosiery Known to man only by a chintzy nom de plume I always preferred a thick bottomed almanac Slowed, but we have big energy to exhume
Dawn rises, yet the Truth still silently sleeps Looking for prophets in the glittering sun Too bright for our modern, mortal myopia Be still; be patient as time is not yet overrun
Great American notebook Time to add our verse Or merely help to tread water While we all survive Ringing the ship’s bell Putting on warm tunes Honing the proper words To elevate our voice