Bed
I haven’t got a fingernail or bed
or even the bed of a fingernail
and I was hoping that you were the nail
that would hang me up on the joy wall
and I was hoping you were the finger
that would point me toward the rainbow
as the rain bowed and slashed and all
the colors stood still in the singing wind
I haven’t got a mailbox or a box
for my files or my fingernail filings
I haven’t got a box of photographs
or a graph of the days of rage and pain
or only on my heart which hurts me
I haven’t got a file to cut off the chain
or a ring I wanted a ring and a song
a bed with a head a heart and a soul
though there are so many places to sleep
I have to say you hit the nail on the head
and that was my nail and my head and now
I am dead there are so many places to sleep
I have fallen from the joy wall and died