KING

Her skin my lips my small hair her skin
Waking is such sweet and sour soup
She says stay and that all work is vanity
So I hug her hard so I don't die alone

One good wind
And this life is gone

When the chicken crossed the road
It failed to rise and hit the bumper
So a family lost its eggs and goes hungry
And a life was lost as real as mine

Holy silence was given for the offering
No sound but a radio Sinatra singing
At least tonight a chicken will cook
In those hill top mud twig homes

A wind blows one
A wind blows all

That side road bag of rags is a man
His bones cut angles in the dust
Old man's eyes are weepy with disease
But not tears in fact he's laughing

Proud of his strong son next to him
Selling one long King fresh off the lake
Their kids play in the moz and the beez
They get no stings or care not if they do

But I've come for the small stones
Weathered uncut the high yellow and red
Mellow red low red and slow yellow
A one dollar makes ten and I go home again

All work is vanity
One wind and it's gone