Five

sure, I know that you are tired of hearing about it, but
most repeat the same theme over and over again, it's
as if they were trying to refine what seems so strange
and off and important to them, it's done by everybody
because everybody must work out what is before them
over and over again because that is their personal tiny miracle

like now as like before and before I have been listening to symphony after
symphony from this radio
makes me realize that certain people now long dead were able to
transgress graveyards
and traps and cages and bones and limbs

in tiny rented rooms I was struck by miracles

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men they drink too
much and
nobody ever finds the one
but keep looking
crawling in and out of beds.
flesh covers the bone and the
flesh searches for more than flesh.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big winners
but it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.
but sometimes I think about it.

there must be a way.
surely there must be a way

there's no chance at all:
we are all trapped by fate.

nobody ever finds the one.
nobody ever finds the one.

there is no chance at all:
we are all trapped by fate.

who put this brain inside of me?
it says that there's a chance
it's kept the rope from my throat
maybe it will loosen yours

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else fills.