I don’t know but I suppose it all
must mean something:
people walk & talk but don’t look,
too much in or out of love with…
I watch while they live &
the birds in the trees wont shut up;
two pigeons are fighting
or trying to fuck.
I watch this &
still know nothing.
The wind grows sharp teeth &
greedily devours the trees,
in the static isolation
of our civil jungles,
& forest jails;
our vast deserts of furious action,
while weather beaten rocks are washed over
by the noise of conversation:
talk about what we love,
of who we hate & what went wrong
but only one to one.
In groups we speak of safe & comfortable
weather, banal media &
to distract from the future that awaits
& the present confronting
with the face of forces beyond our control.