The Wasters
All day we sit on the steps
of the sun and beggars swim
past us like rivers without eyes
and protesters of silence in the
shyest of years offer us words
through softer branches and
lighter mornings.
We untie all our possessions and
tear at rafters of air.
Imitators of death
return at night without food but
we survive,
innocent as trees, hungry as nails.
Before morning
we gather around our
starvation like wood on open fires.
Page(s) 25
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