Opening in space,
Edges of tomorrow,
Drops into the has been gones,
Leaving a shadow into the wee hours,
Expert guides cannot find the walls,
Of the ground from which all tomorrows arise.
Spoke to the blind man on the porch,
Where is the golden corn,
Which sticks in the teeth,
A bushel isn’t enough,
To keep the walls from closing in.
Gerald Lee Jordan
30 January 2013