Sunday

My head is a junkhole
And it holds holes so hollows
That echo so low
When the sound washes inward
And I'm gone in the dark
And flow just like nightfall
Remember what our lives had been like
Just before the great windfall
Of nothing
I drop to my knees
And on my knees I drop
Cutting them deep on the red leather kneel bar
I want you to come in
I, the purveyor
Of prayer prayed by prayers of sayers
Who said don't stop
Thes nothing days