Jason Lyle

June 12, 1991 - Orange, CA

September Clouds

And I shall shake the clouds
As if it were
A fresh laundered shirt in the hands of old ma.
Strung up on clothes pins.
To catch the wind.
With nimble fingers and
Prayers to god.
I’ll catch em by their shoulders.
I'll wring out every last drop.
Till my feet are mired in mud.
Old workin’ boots all mucked.
Turn it all into a wasteland with tears
Of a virgin just fucked.
The city folk will cry and wrench their clothes.
Drenched in a forgiveness they don’t know.
But, the rest of them will understand that,
If you can shake the clouds now,
Next year’s harvest will be a paradise.
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