And it's familiar
this fact of flame
of indulging images
the salty dust devil winds
spitting into silver helmets
through shit splattered wings
the beginnings and endings
in which i salute the sun
because i know it has to come today
because a dream is like a nail
becasue this room peels back the whole in my cup
and so i tell you whoever you are
plastic pen, paper, dicitonary
i tell you
the policemen sing
the sanitation men whistle
the distended body of military parades
fly flags in wounds of dead words
and the sad look of tribal warfare
points every secound between sockets
into the same flame of the zero hour
and i know it has to come from me
