Edits

Edits for the last two, hopefully they're better now--



soon


tiny droplets, water falling from
the unseen black roof of the sky,
the small words of prophets.  hermits
in the desert, peeking out
from their arid caves, with prayers for rain.
promises manifest before the storm,
until gates, now open, spill
out radiance

that illuminates the hazy, never-dark
city night--
    lightning shrill, silent
    laughter and jagged,
    vertical smiles
on the shoulders
of echoing thunder rumbling
the repeated mantra
    held holy by those
    lost night saints
    clutching metal in the plains--
ears planted firm for electricity,
but thunder only whispers,
"Soon."




tree of smoke



the fire is burning on the horizon,
hidden beneath the green sea
of new-bloom tree tops,

a silent giant exhaling black
soot, spiraling through the air
and growing, a black ash.

suffocating boughs bring
fitful daytime sleep, smokey
dreams through the shade--

I smashed every television
with a dislodged sink basin,
the crude club, unwieldy,

heavy, a porcelain burden--
each screen, unfazed,
flickered on,

my work, ineffectual,
until, breaking through
sheets of steady glass,

I tore out transistors,
dismantled each cathode
ray tube until palms

bloomed red and veins
opened like spring storm
clouds, quenching the fire,

the rain of dreamscapes
choking out the flowering
tree of smoke.