Into / Hope

Alice's hope rode into town and spun and turned and wound my mind around...





hope for the future
or regret of the past
both hold our helpless
awaiting first and last

dreams pulling from back
and front to any when 
but the one that we rack
our selves on to defend

to any death that will
do the dance do the jig    
that we love to watch
but can not stand to rig

our selves into as if
we’d rather dig the whole
inside and pitch what
comes out of any bowl    

we do not turn ourselves
at all the gifts given
spinning into before
and after these riven

wishes ride on jealous
horses and draw and quarter
these moments that we
give away steal or barter

but cannot seem ourselves 
into 

we huddle

our hope springs 
eternally birthing beasts 
from the ground dreams 
of all our ancestors 
spindrift