The heavy metal thrusts above
Our garden stinks below
And in between we chemicals
To spirit form do grow.
The rank and weedy waste piles up
The sea is sick and grey
To move is first to sweep or dodge
The rubble of yesterday.
Mind is pure, yet with body encumbered
Must dust off the atoms of time
And we are the baggage stuff
Vaporous powder puffs
Abstracts in God's clogging mind.
Like vertical pillars of salt we do stand
Immersed in the great glue of mind
And we are the heavy ones
We are the stolid ones
Counting our relative times.
In building block concepts the planet falls on
Tin cans orbit and mock the vast void
Aeroplanes thrust above
And beneath them we grow
And beneath us God's garden is soiled.