poor man’s gold

October 12, 2010 § Leave a comment

poor man’s gold
squeezing blood from the water, they shell fat and muscle slow roast their own limbs caught on film organs drying like deserts sweeping out the plains

today a man who used to catch vertebrates for dinner squeezes gold dust from black heart-shaped rocks for a living

the summer’s heat burns soles tar sticks earning a wage to die for

good night that black fish closes its eyes and never opens them again
no one fiddle while fires tear the city sings along with the t.v. theme as the credits roll up the poor, the dust, leaving nothing for the fire to feed on

just a mirage when he breathes just the silence staring where the waters used to be touching the sun



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