[The water was rising...]

The water was rising, I got up on the bed

Still wearing the Hawaiian shirt he had on yesterday

He used his thoughts to draw a rudimentary circle on the wall

Hitting Beirut and killing 22 civilians

But now go the bells, and we are ready

Novelty is no better than repetition

That graces the walls of toilet stalls with hooey

And comparison with the dead—their slimy cruelty—and meatballs

Perched like ghostly birds

Believing in old men’s lies, then too late unbelieving

There’s rough life in the rust

Long-buried whore’s eggs, razor-clams with shells

Pirates dressed in pink and pit-bulls on parade

With power to extend the longevity of learned fear in the mouse

And a heron on the horizon many sewing-days ago

Jane, Jane, ascend the stairs

Of the river’s mouth at the year’s turn

Thus predicting the shock to the tale that so entertains grown children

Of the animals that have nearly all forsaken us

Source: The Book of a Thousand Eyes (Omnidawn Publishing, 2012)