I do not have a pure voice
but I will say what must be said
I will say it until it is heard for
mine is not the only voice.
The way to live is hand to mouth
steal an apple it will be bad but
I took a bite of a peach I grew
sweet to mouth as sky to blue.
The ties I cut, the tracks I laid
straight as stories from my heart
about my ancestors all carried
on tracks on ties as curved as true.
Children listen to their betters
gilding the gilded flowers of old
painting the painted statues of
our bought and sold philosophers.
On ground of sandy trust I stand
swimming almost to my head in
history bleeding doubt and needing
more upside-down repeating.
In my unembellished voice
the past asks for nothing more
than to be paid the price
all these years it worked for.