Series 2

There is a space in between that doesn’t separate

As the distance grows, perforated holes

Expose in clarity, what’s there to see

To those with bowls of charity

They come to bring with their basket swings

Ears listening for rumors to eat

So they can leave and start regurgitating;

Rinse their mouths and then repeat

For the birds have chicks they need to feed.

That’s why their feet never meet relief

The wind may sweep back around

Brooms may fly above the ground

Until a house can be found

Take your shoes off when you come inside

Don’t leave it behind when the clock starts to chime

The phone reminds you of the time

Pull down the blinds refresh your mind

See the going ons that happens behind

Seats so strong that backs recline

Retreat to our phones to past the time

A feast has grown it was appetized

From a pigment to malignant it has to die

There’s a remanent who isn’t mesmerized

A sentence not written but vocalize

Oral traditions are on track to die

Memory is missing it’s on the decline

Look down to see the shine if you want to find