"Waterfall"
I am not satisfied with the death
of poetry,
I want to hear it suffer
in long shadows near the pier,
on a dais of jagged seashell,
begging the crowd for more time
more eclipse of phrases clipped
from bumper sticker minds
more of the foaming tide, the trash
of the sea,
more poison, kool-aid, green champagne
straw hats burning
on empty beds,
will
you give me
more than this?
will you
give me
trimmed hedges
and white fences and stranded cats in an alley
will you see terror
as a boat on fire
as a madman clipping fingers
for a collage
as blind dates in car crashes,
cold rivers at night
babies in ovens
wrapped in cotton sheets
will you see poetry
as nefarious stones
at the edge of a waterfall,
the drift of carcass near an oilspill
the sound of the moon crashing into the sun
will you
will
you.
Yes, Iano, I did.
Thank you.