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Dave Bonta
day long as a sermon
or a letter in clear ink
so tomorrow might not appear
where we drink
tomorrow is a lie
in many churches
ear to the street
I fall down the stairs of the sea
i feel my body covered with dust
you celler my odor of wetness
dragging down wooden steps
my dirty windows
i hear my tomorrow
coming back
to look on
while i stand
to go underground
myself
a hidden floor to lie on
Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the
workmen are beginning the fence.
The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that
can stab the life out of any man who falls on them.
As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble
and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering
children looking for a place to play.
Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go
nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.