The Lutheran Doctrine

framed on the chapel door

Read lines from the two shot rambles

You track in pamphlets and shoe snuffed camels

under your feet

Boots, snow and sleet, in Germany

A warm Summer, Miami Beach, in futon sandals

 

Turning loops at the round-about

I’ll have grown up by the time you see me

peeling dead skin in the nursery

RX agents and optimistic patients,

Framed hopes on the polished floor

Track in notes from the doc’s preamble

 

I am a drugged up child, the clock strikes

and the first leaper laced with broken lungs and virus pool blood

said “I am a hooker, please help me”

And died away from a family in the hospital streets

 

Turning loops at the round-about

I hope to hear your sermon

The feeling of it behind me as I’m being directed ahead

Moving along past to one last exhibit

And being hurried a path, leaving behind buried fads

I hope that your sermon’s as clear as their song

(Restart)