The Grain Falls

Who you are no longer matters 

Your past lies papery in a dark corner, skin and shell gone for good 

And you, like a fog, are suspended 

Pressing the world close at hand, yet falling to disappear at the end 

What is a country? you ask then you know the bold brush of borders that keeps someone in

And pushes one out of the nest they have woven so breaking one calls them again.     

THE WORK THE WORK the mantra it goes  

Building our towers of triumph again

And none of the spectacle speaks of the workers

And no one is asking of them. 

For they are the work no more and no less 

The wind  cuts a shift and they float on  away 

But this time the wind left the grain unsuspended, and IT falls with speed unfaltering, terminal 

It falls into the soil of another make-believe.

Will fruit be forthcoming?

Who bothers to dream?.  I just wish resurrection

I wish resurrection

For death and spent chaff and for me.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *