The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive


jim hill


im climbing barbed wire to heaven -
im skating on thin ice for god -
im down on the rail and old number seven
rolls over with nary a nod -

im rolling the cards and tossing the pawn
and playing with angels for incense and gold -
my arms are tools of the dark devils spawn -
my torn bloody hands can hardly take hold -

of the wire and ice and fire and spice
the trains carrying down on the rail -
so careful of angles and star-spangled bangles
theyll carry you down without fail

from heaven to seven and a nod to a clod -
theyll carry you down like a pail
running out down the hill with a license to kill -
and the bodies are falling and children are bawling -
the worlds going out with a wail


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