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 Canadian Male

The Sleeping Clouds Dangle Like Rocks In The Skies

The endless freshness stands
in good repair, but the air
around it has died.
It has been raining now
for a million years or more,
and the rivers and lakes
cannot contain the moisture

And still the cities grow
and the people profit.
The streets are paved,
the buildings slightly dirty.
A trillion, or more, causes
occupies the collective attention
of the dilapidated minority.
They chant as a group and move
upon the offices of Government
like digging moles after a hole.
This or that, that or this; whatever
will be will be.

The sleeping clouds dangle like
rocks in the skies. They plop
along in disgruntled fashion,
calling for an election to be held
so they can vote themselves
into office.

And still the men and women
without a home mark their
downtown street territories.
Hands held out, requests on lips.
Evasive faces walk by them; drop their
coins into their hands and
champion themselves over their
acts of mercy.

Relax and let the drowning begin.
Stop the heart and open
the multitude of toys. Play like
children in a room, walls safely
keeping the reality away.
Windows blocked, shivers of sunlight.
Temperamental  doors that will
not open.

Shut it all away.
Close everything at once.
Be of one mind with no minds.
One hostile thought following another,
one ending. This is it.
Everything that happens around
them is none of their business.

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