poem

 Wet

I’ve always been a grinder

Scratching out brown dust

An inch or two at a time 

I am the sluice in the stone

When the river runs dry

All these people staring in awe

From the edge of what’s now a canyon

What was the point and why?

Look at those inscrutable geological ages

Layered in the crushed silence of looming walls

When the waters come again

They’ll come thundering through empty halls

The ancient dust now realizes the thing it's

Been feeling all this time is parched 

Everyone else trapped below drowns

I remember how even

A desert can get drenched

Geysers of pleasure

Erupting from the center of the earth

I remember being wet

12/7/22