During the day, the sun is bitter
as us. It knows it would die
at its brightest. When is the sunset
of a body stretched thin as paper
on the face of the Earth worth
talking about? & people live their
lives, their communities, their
loves. & sometimes, a spirit
crumbles in our hands. What then
is this sweetness that seeps
into my joints? What then the sharp
taste of steel on my tongue?
The fruitflies visit the garden
of any soul, as long as the flowers
bloom. The black flies come when
it is time for the river fish
to find mud again. I know what I'm
talking about. I know what this
gracious world has done to me. I
tell you, if life doesn't kill you,
nothing will. Gods, behind this
silver lining, there must be a dark
cloud. There must be or I'll create
mine, paint it a screams of grey
& ashes falling into my palms.
You do not even know what the smooth
pebbles speak of when the river
is dry yet you seek the sun
that killed the day. What mercy!
What empire has fallen!
