My imagination is broken
I haven’t eaten in years

haven’t seen a face
a face like my mother’s

in years maybe more

This is a life my friends
of negative thinking

defined by what I do not
get around to doing

Such is the church
and the street when it’s raining

The street making faces
at all the parked cars

and in one of the cars
there is a baby

This distracts me
from what I was thinking

thinking will I ever fit inside this
I mean my own body

and a crowd forms
surrounding the baby

tapping the glass
speaking baby language

but the baby does not listen
soft in its harnessed cradle

it knows something about me
I am afraid to know

What is it I ask What
is it

And someone from the crowd answers Mister
it is a baby