I feel it in the street
I feel it in the heat,
The hair that once filled
This head has grayed out
With wise words once said,
Is it in me—that thing called
Foundation, called elevation,
Called humble adoration—
I dig down deep but not deep
Enough, I skip to the beat of the
Street and the sirens and sounds
Of pylons surrounded by road flares,
I see the urgency, I see the ambulance,
A chaser I am, a seeker I am, the words
Drain me, for the words surround me,
The next generation is waiting in
Anticipation, waiting for adoration,
All of our words they empty me
In the head they fill me,
I am addicted to the praise of the
Street, and the beat that follows me,
Man lifted up can never get to high,
For three days I cannot spend in the
Ground and bury around, and bury
Deep for grace to abound—the words
Of life, they don’t live deep in me—
A resetting, a redoing, a rewiring—
Let the noise of the street not
Outdo the voice from above, that
Splits and tares and tears inside
Of me