Doing Time

I will not speak to immovable objects
like to gravestones and the maggot eaten,
napping beneath them

And nothing comes of speaking
to prison bars unless with hack saw
and/or dynamite

Clocks that don't keep time
are no better listeners
than fools young and old

If you show me movement,
I may converse awhile
like with trees on a hill blown by a gale

Or talk to passing light on fading barns
or like to the wheels of distant trains
turning inside out my Johnny Cash