Lamb or Lyin’
Lamb may lie at feet of lion,
but does that mean the end of march?
More than meat, less than mushroom,
rogue spore seeking warmth in gloom,
I grow my glow in dark.
Yet woof and whap of warp and weave
tie us all together.
We live backside the mirror in Alice’s Other Land
where biggest fear is fear of mere
in same old same again.
With howl of owl nudging now,
and then and when two-timing.
This line don’t meet that intersect,
the angle’s too declining,
unworthy of respect.
I’d explain, but words weren’t paid,
and tarnish touches timing.
– Smith, 3.21.2015
