We Drink Dark Waters at Dawn

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  We drink dark waters at dawn, scratching out the earth in desperate haste until the air becomes a jet-black mist.   Our mother, long dead, plays with us at noon, then jabs our eyes at night in this our house, our bed.   Th...

 

We drink dark waters at dawn,

scratching out the earth

in desperate haste until

the air becomes a jet-black mist.

 

Our mother, long dead,

plays with us at noon, then

jabs our eyes at night

in this our house, our bed.

 

The noon-time play is Death,

so we yearn for the night

when our stricken mother harries and pinches,


cultivating a space for bullets and war.

 

We drink dark waters at dawn,

blind, scraping at the sick rock.

Our mother is close now,

closer than the veins in our necks.

 

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