[The water was rising...]

The water was rising, I got up on the bed Still wearing the Hawaiian shirt he had on yesterday He used his thoughts to draw a rudimentary circle on the wall Hitting Beirut and killing 22 civilians But now go the bells, and we are ready Novelty is no better than repetition That graces the walls of toilet stalls with hooey And comparison with the dead—their slimy cruelty—and meatballs Perched like ghostly birds Believing in old men’s lies, then too late unbelieving There’s rough life in the rust Long-buried whore’s eggs, razor-clams with shells Pirates dressed in pink and pit-bulls on parade With power to extend the longevity of learned fear in the mouse And a heron on the horizon many sewing-days ago Jane, Jane, ascend the stairs Of the river’s mouth at the year’s turn Thus predicting the shock to the tale that so entertains grown children Of the animals that have nearly all forsaken us