What flavor of holiness would be found behind those doors?

Who would lay prostrate upon the prayer matted floors?

Could you lay down your weapons as if you were sore

rejecting all violence against those who’re po’or

Would the doors open outwards with sweeping embraces?

Did you hear the call to prayer staring out at your faces?

Where do your feet run to at such furious paces

Suit up and move in to glory’s good graces.

the mustang muscles

its way up the hill

Revs past the

Second hand drinkers

Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock

That felt like limericks

But tasted like limes

The color hunter green arrow

Green arrow

Or spring leaf

or envious Kermit

or shambles of zombies

This ride is taking

A length

of extraordinary time

Skipping music like rock(s)

Or The Stones

or cowboy lasso

Contributing artist: Eric B. Bishop