top of page


By Jonah Levy

That wasn’t me it was me

That wasn’t you it couldn’t be

Stubborn eyes that seem to be

Light sensitive when lights can’t see

We don’t drift like seas and knots

And no I love like I was taught

Practiced well barefoot with fire

Left in front and right to block

Cut some trees to form some path

Splintered hands to lay down lath

A gravel road that kicks up dust

And streets to pave with tolls to pass

It’s not a chore, just drying clay

An ovens short is wrong to say

Recycled trees to house this fleet

If change repeats I'll fight defeat


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page