Insolence

The muck stops here
the affront in the irony
the trouble with being guilty
the trouble with being found harmless
the trouble with the finery
what it hides below the line

what it hides without a sense
of personae or a lasting sense of time

she winked at me awkwardly, and lunged at her quarry
in passive recline
he sat, relaxed,
at ease out of place
draped like a leaf
over the arched seat
focused on the cake

set adrift by vague demands
it rained a bit that afternoon
lost in the noice
pale but deep
the demands run
like ink

the spider in the kitchen
the raining walls that bear
fruit for the fowl
the raining veils
that seduce the
miles laid waste
by the moles

the terrible waste
of lives in the control
of land assets

in a world where space is premium
access to water is wealth

The tanks cut through and the water is buried
in the land

4:09am
July 29
2003