Inbetween our faith incontinent <br />wheezes like a newly invented <br />instrument upon which we play <br />the hills from here to there. <br />Pretty tombstones like teeth <br />and not like teeth chew the <br />moon looking down upon this mess, <br />humans racing to and fro without alibis. <br />Capsized in the desert they will find us <br />crouching in the gutters of time <br />explorers of the inner side of nowhere.<br /><br />Larry Sawyer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-ballad-of-maps-and-globes/
