at the Edge of America

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There is a voice in the trees

i can hear it from the asylum window

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the priest is at odds with himself

about my condition

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there is a voice in the trees

it hovers just beyond the river’s bend over there.

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the world is at odds with itself

about situation like this

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there is a lady in a room of no windows

there is a lady in a room purged of love

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i am at odds with priests and worlds

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there is a humming lady,

in a room,

in the trees,

where the river bends,

over there. – T C Cannon