The prophets go crazy

times will come.
we all be dressed in dust again.
whetting blades against the darkness.

when you don't like to go to the cities
when you don't need the trade.
when you say long goodbyes when you do.

when you tell down the roadside camps
what the old people did to make corn grow.
to make the sun rise. to make strong babies.

and gonna sit and wonder why
they liked so much to stick pictures
to cans of mostly rotten long gone food.

times will come the lord sayeth.
and so the dusty lips and fingers
tasting and squeezing the knoll and the towers.

who knows if the prophets go crazy
or if they is crazy to start with?
stringing the holes in the world.

don't mean they not right though.