old tired teams

born at the right time of rhyme or reason the color quotes the band champions through with the wind gripping widows claw eye dust views the man stands to rebind the name of the game it falls from the edges and clears out the clean with the brush from spider wires of tired old teams I opened the growth mongrel mistake with the sun on the field of green rolling scenes it flew into one where the heart opens to the reality of the day leaving behind the false fabricated illusion string pulled by our many friends we care for in hope a new way shines to untie what binds the frail rope so the milk and honey flows from the funny pointy toe where a mile crawls into a map of sandbag sequence floods the events mark our light future into grains of mud wet sand built before the white house answers in the psalm of your hand