March 2015

camera-less 
no words to take
the place
river of stars
rippling behind the veil
of summer days
 
singles bar
loneliness measured
via sxting
pre-dawn city
pigeons pick through
last night
with dawn
I am become
Raskolnikov
the silence
made holy by water
and its sound
the colour
of clear water
in its song
autumn dusk—
the tinges of death
now sacred
with dawn
the sound of water
in Latin 
trickling stream . . .
corporate oligarchs
foul the trough