It must be true that long hair begets a
special communion with God, for I can
hear voices that my ears aren’t privy
to. Samson heard the call and he
tore down the temple;
I keep being driven deeper and deeper into
these woods, where the mumblings of
sycamore and elm tell me there is no
difference between the earth and the
sky, and,
stretching out their great feathered
arms, reminding me that the sun is
just another star, lost in this daytime
illusion, yet ever searching the
heavens for its place among the
Angels.