At the Center of Things

Got a word of advice? I’m having the same problem twice Holy places in my mind protect against time But they don’t make my answers right Always the same town At dawn, lamp-lit puddles on the ground An old library on the corner Where the mayor’s daughter Ensures all lost souls are found A fantasy of possibility An antidote to urbanity With enough room to maneuver I would be so much truer To process And intuitive certainty At the center of things The bells of freedom ring At the center of things There’s no need for a savior At the center of things The echoes of history sing At the center of things Emptiness is a perfectly fine neighbor Do you also have a place you go? When the static stars no longer glow? And nature’s critique Renders you unwilling to speak In defense of culture’s Vaudeville show In Honesty, you don’t need a job They give you a room above the saloon Where you can converse with God An old typewriter and wooden bench One tough but understanding friend Who takes you where the White Horses trod I happen to go there all the time When every rhyme feels contrived Reality simply can’t compare To the Summer Solstice fair Where paper soldiers kiss their velvet wives