Paths don't know where they go
they lay themselves down over and over and they end up
where they do
They take us in the night they are kidnappers and thieves
One can find themselves in the garden of judgement
when they thought they were out for a stroll in the country
the gates of hell
fling themselves open at the merest whisper
The rotting corpse of a child will throw a ball to a rotting dog
both will smile up into the face of their guest
and will take their hand and never let go -
And the path that led there will not even notice what it has done
it will just keep sending travelers
into the grinder
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