i listened to your taped epistle to rachel stamped and dated,
now i know you were really alive in nineteen seventy one.

fall saddles

you carried god like a bouquet of balloons,
yeshua whispered in your ear for your next move...
"go on, get on that train."

in your clay faced youth the rubber upper lip
sounds out a bold pen sketch.
were you talking about your dad when you said,
"your fisted language still affects my style
although i sometimes catch your visions like a child."

do you still pray about me in your quiet time,
cast out soft-core demons when i come back home,
let some nashville fake record you demo tapes.
when i'm waiting at a train station or a bus stop,
i also play "led by the lord day" in my own way.