waiting for the processional to begin

--------------------
In the house
where the grasshopper
-----dropped dead
not seeing the generations
that were promised
-----to him
I threw my hat on
the floor, and hung
my coat on the
-----nail in the
-----wall. I had
been thinking of bigger things;
the mystics who roam
the California hills,
and the beggars who tap
-----dance on the
dirt floors in the Indiana
-----back woods.
It wasn’t for me to feel
the horror, or at least
the great despair that everyone
-----is supposed to feel on the other
side of the wall.
For me it was a joy to be
in the house, out of the rain,
and waiting for the snow
to fall as the seasons
were sent off on the empty
plates to the kitchen to
-----be smashed on the
-----linoleum floor where the grasshopper
who never saw promises fulfilled
was being dragged off by red ants.