Wednesday, June 3, 2009

This Town


I came to this town on the back of my mothers breath
and the grunt of my fathers expectations,
the fear more opposite then expected
and soon discovered that there are strange apposing forces
at work.


In the still of night traffic patterns mock me,
their constant flow toward something I can't see,
a movement across the gap of integrity that seems to touch
some silent voice.


Pleasure fills this town and desire keeps it going.
It isn't as though the forests want their vengeance,
the trees don't care either way.
However, when the waters run down the side
of the mountains we hear their cries of clear cut loss
on the banks of the muddy waters.


I have been here 15 years now
and I don't know who's changed;
me or this town. Maybe I've grown
as the town has aged.
Some of the things I remember
are gone, others I simply forgot.


I don't much expect that it will make sense.
Maybe it's meant to be awkward,
a fidgeting that creates meaning
in the friction between fingers.


It's gets harder to stand in the crowd,
to watch the stream carry the dead fish away.
The night are long, but at lease they're quite.


Some call it the end, others wreckage.
It just happened, falls apart at the streams.

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