We turn around, another face is shown That differs on the die we cast before. They say it's all the same old shit y'know. I traveled down to where the brownleaf, flown From bough to gutter back to gust to soar, Has turned around, another face is shown. We walk in winds which menacingly blow Cascades of leaves and slam the open door; They say it's all the same old shit y'know. But when the wrath of transience is sown And the crescendo stoops to subtle roar We turn around, another face is shown. The tendency of energy to go Towards creative ways up off the floor, We say it's all the same old shit y'know. I go to work like everyone unknown And in community commune, once more I turn around, another face is shown. They say it's all the same old shit y'know.
A place for my poems 