Saturday, July 05, 2003

Will Not See

Sterile swamp land
In the underground parking garage
Seen from the oil spot
Seen through binoculars

Drifting dense
Swelling sweep
Of feathers and dust
Through the air of fumes

Can see a flower here
Yellow, red, violet;
They’re all big around here

Nothing to see around here
But the waves
Of heat

Can’t see the sun
You were made for;
You’re misplaced

Misplaced and firmly
In this place

Sterile swamp land
Where nothing grows, and grows fetid
Dripping ooze of white plastic

Twisting tails
Of lizards long dead;
All the animals are ghosts
And are not distracting

Can find all time
To think about
What you will not

Will not see
That behind every pillar waits a man
Your men, and for you
They have knives

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