I wonder if Olympia's wet streets could carry the old model T,
Originals, on spread thin, graveled, wetland roads
between textiles and cracks.
I wonder what the heron and the harrow thought as they dug through their elements, watching as they were being watered down
by cultures unannounced.
loud people, sick people, romping through the native streets of a foreign way
There are pastures of plenty that are being watered down by fallacious bodhisattvas, masturbating to polluted air and singing hums that are false harmonies disguised as trivial orgasms,
predator and prey.
The fourth avenue bridge hangs her head as she hears the ways they don't say
and On a sunday night the naked people commune in the outlawed home where the horses hay.
the tears reside in the NEGLIGENCE, and they pray.
They pray
They pray
They pray
for the predator and prey
And when home will tell it to the mountain
on the day when we look to the hills
arm and arm
breast and bone
when the lovers love
and wed
celebrated
in retrospect
when the babies are born,
and the stories are told
and the songs prevail
we will always remember how we have and always were there and they weren't, and won't and will always be
gone
and we
love raw
because be prayed.