Puddles glint on the edge of night tattling
on the sprinkler systemmes grinning, concrete tissues
directing the excess from the temple to
the streets, excuse me excuse
me people coming through.
Somewhere above the drains rattling
sits the navel and below that the tohu
and the bohu below our grins and ginseng tea
gushing birth-control to tables and seas
where Mr. Fishy isn't feeling so great
nor himself. I tend my own little garden, growing
vegetables for my neighbours, no longer
concerned with my own self.
Friend, resist the tap-water.
-r
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