LYRIC FOR SALE

By Julie Beck Morrow

“Acquittal, Sublime”

(Julie Morrow)

Pabulum, she scries from me,
as voyeurs wait, unknowingly.
To be immersed within the crowd,
like seeds in dirt, like home to me.
An offering, her altar, wrecked
my candor and my openness.
The aridness, I falter—trip
up my demeanor, lethal kiss.

(Chorus)
Lying in wait to deface my love.
Fasten the gate to subdue the flood.
Offer myself in a holy rite.
Seeds in the crowd to engage the fight.
Pound out my rage in the curling vines.
Feel the ground quake in acquittal, sublime.

I bellow to the earth and to the bed
of grass that calls me home.
The comfort of the weighted mass
as clover blankets dreams of home,
dissociated from the task
I’m set to take, to howl, to moan.
The crowd, like seeds in dirt,
remind me of the place I call my own.

(Repeat Chorus)

I steel myself, she lurks in time.
I grant my rage some notes to climb,
like curlin’ vines of woodbine set
around the stage, I smell the pine.
Her consternation’s lacking depth
as I maintain the borderline
between the chains of decency,
and ardor like stale cherry wine.

(Bridge)
have you any rain?
any residue?
can I find myself
buried, encumbered, in you?

(Repeat Chorus)

© 2025 Julie Morrow (BMI). All Rights Reserved.