Pica Beats (The)
Beating Back the Claws of the Cold
as the rug rolls down all the worldly troubles become muffledjust a few minutes more they'll suffocate as she leads your feet down a winding path not soon forgottenyou'll wonder how it got so late but not enough to curse all the soil lost where the path is beatenthat soil learned to to contemplate as the bus cuts curbs takes down a dozen aunts and unclesonly concrete will care when they call and if their mouth has a lit cigarette the burning ash will find it's way to heavenand its descendants they are all acid rainand though the clouds spit fire every once in a while I'll be catchinga glimpse I'll pretend is sleet and snowand if the boat backs up it'll wonder what has plagued like such an anchorthey'll find that they had sunk long agowhere would you prefer that I go - where would you prefer I gopart of change is more than coins... part of me would rather not learn part of the body is the bone... part of birth is leaving homepart of keeping colors old... is beating back the claws of the cold
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