When it rains, I sit in sills and stare through dropping pins of water that collects around the ankles of our burrows, boroughs
We project our insecurities onto our gods and sciences
Sacrament cups, test-tubes and low-fat foods in quick succession
I pray on wounded knees for peace
In a world that is falling to pieces
Poem? No just fumbling with small sticks and flints on wet-white-ground
I am utterly afraid that what lies on the other side of the equal sign really are just numbers
February 4, 2007
