The recent heads go into teleology
To decide if the old heads may talk,
Who are their baby sitters by day
Or yawning story tellers by night.
In streets old ones are aggregates.
Old heads bob up, turn sideways
As they gather their earth’s crust
For thin cover on parched faces.
The recent heads listen to uncles
And aunts under dark staircases,
The latter words invisible by day
But at times exceeding by night.