The twist in my side Like an unwelcome touch Marks a mortality Felt with sincerity The cardinal chortles a ma** that I Am not prepared for Starlings quiver and chitter in their pews This church of God spins beneath My congregation of Birds, trees and bugs My generation in motion pa**es the old and the new Looking back and looking forward Still this church of God spins, still I would be a puddle gathering the rain I would be as earth and gather bones I cannot cease I am not cooed by mourning doves This procession shall pa** And all will follow