There is something in the air
dust, leaves, the breath of pigeons,
a small tight fist inside your lungs
there is something
that does its work,
a string tied around your heart, a small ring
that keeps you from breathing
that makes you turn
away from things
that make you dream.
there used to be a rain goddess
that lived in a pool of
pure spring water,
the tears of an innocent earth
before the cross and money
and steel
they would
whisper her name and
pray , these benedictions
and the sound of her saintly'
essence
are almost all gone
now her home
has 30 weight motor oil
,beer cans
hobo piss
the jellied wings
of plastic bags
and smoke
she waits
and you try to make
sense of this world
and the voices of the living
are like the voices of
the dead
clogged with meaning
numbed and
piled
They say nothing to you
there is no
escape only a
.....
at the bottom of the water
