River Raft To The Country Of You Ain’t Got A Chance

Sometimes, I look into the night skies and it’s the insides

of the eyes of a friend I know is not going to make it,
the bright, startling moments and ideas that blow out
of the falling away, the going, the loss studded by stars,
of someone under so much suspicion for being more

than a witness in this world. And the river in me

has always been the search for that key to insert

into us for peace, as if it was the right five words

that you had to snatch out of this language in precise

order—grabbing honey bees out of a passing swarm.



Until then, drive your new product straight to the garbage heap.



I have left the old world.



Call me if you want in.


But first, point to your chest

and say, "Drought starts here."

Be warned:  the world we seek
comes with a senseless new language.

Ongongaroo!