What we do we do
we do we do
this regeneration
it ain’t for the weak boned
this revision, life, revisited
the spring rain drains
into the sump pit and thus
beginning again
the water keeps running
and so do I
and so do I
and so do I
I do I do I do
I have revised myself out of all understanding.
My soul is the soul of a bridge burner,
surrounded by love and sometimes still adrift.
I save my true groanings for the gatormen who live in the river.
This mask of me lasts only as long as she does,
and my heart also.
Each day is a battle against a weariness I cannot yet name.
Cast ye these cares into the river. That’s where all the garbage goes.
Yesterday a man made a submarine out of a discarded icebox. I hear tales of him on Channel 13, in the banter of tug boat captains.
