They covet rain. I’m staring at the mills.
The people up in their towers, they are cleaning up their spills.
Here underneath the blanket, it’s an ordinary day.
The clouds are constructing rainbows for the not-just-anywhere decay.
The grass says “huss.” It’s getting angry at the wind.
The breeze knows where it’s going, but it don’t know where it’s been.

Sighs like irons brush past you on your right.
Your tickled tongue is restless, but it’s sleeping here tonight.
Thoughts like rice are cooking gently on your stove.
Your sisters all sit like jewelry, while your fathers still walks like ghosts.
The flame is burning next to me. Your dress is like my name,
Hanging loosely from your skin. My letters do the same.

The room was full of leaders there with no one there to follow.
Your mind was sold off piece by piece, but your body you still have to borrow.
Your refrigerator belt was broken. The students all are tired.
The custodian was melted down. And the money makers all are wired.
We all are parts, but we don’t smell like machines.
No, I don’t feel like an accident or someone else’s dream.

Loneliness is our worry. Our worry is our death.
Death comes from too much living trapped deep inside our own breath.
We forget that we remember and were never taught to learn.
Beauty is our destruction as well as the ugliness we birth.
The comfort I have in giving that which I have not received
is the one condolence that I have for having faith in my state of disbelief.
The actors are just pretending. The stripper, she’s a tease.
The firefighters used to be philosophers when they were down on their knees.
The photographers were blinded by the letters the letters they had to write.
The sold off much of their equipment, but are still fighting for the copyrights.
The priests turned to sailors. The Sailors all retired.
Kingdom come was coming in, but somewhere had yelled “fire.”