45*21

for 8/27/10

halo of bugs
and when they eat you
harmony and mold
doesn't the gnat pile up
ailing foghorn
my last image lost
under carpet of plankton
you might grow in numbers
but your potency lacks
because of language
yet the listening would rather die
with those words in their ears
that very moment when they are dead
and somehow still walk the earth
take pleasure in the pain of others
never getting innocence
when it glows so wide
in a child's eye before knowing
that everyone is corrupted
The hairy man shoveling asphalt
who knows the smell of earth
by memory