One thing I enjoy, that happens once in a while,
is to be going through some manuscripts
and come across a poem that I wrote a while back,
that I forgotten I'd wrote.
And here's one that I've never read before either.
I don't think.
"When the giant opens his giant mouth, birds fly out.
Which disintegrate at their first effort to sing.
And a gray snowfall of feathers and greasy coins,
lies at my feet.
Tonight, it's raining and once again, I am on my bloody knees.
Hard to believe that the giant is dying of a disease of birds.
Hard to wait for your voice to take root
in the innermost hole on the summits
of the teeth on the riverbank, of the near future.
We are such greedy animals.
But the wind carries our religious songs a long way."