I pretend to have a letter I need to send
and though writing is not a sin
heaven forfeits what it does not let in;
letter written in blood if I was anemic I'd been dead long since.
Everything's still the same
even when we change the rules or dress up the name:
society maimed made lame
no one and everyone is to blame
even though he never came.
In unison they swing their canes
dapper dressed they walk along
one way while our lives wind
not as a literal time-piece
but as wisps of wind that catch your face
and bring relief on a hot day.