From a too-solid world
That refuses to budge,
Mistakes turned to stone,
The fixing of one's martyrdom
Behind a secret deliberation.
The crows walk gingerly on stilleto heels.
The angers come
From the vaprous world,
From nothing one can ever determine,
A misheard imposition,
An arriving late to wait ...
Leaving as inexplicably as it came.
It hasn't stopped raining since 1968.
The angers do not go away
With the giant world against me,
There's no safe place to scream
For what's left of conscience and reason
When all they ever learn
Is be wary of my rage.
When the diaspora begins, the exiled turn pro.
