in deep caverns, rivers flow
rivers go where no soul dares
where the air is strict and steady biding
and time alone is climbing
where dark and desperation dwell –
all these things are known so well.
here above ground the sound of feet
on deckboards slapping wet from pool
in sun and summer heat and haze
these movers move their days
there’s nothing to criticize or punish
just languor and language of the hurried
and all those that are worried
take their cares and piss them into the water
which is amassed so it cannot turn yellow
or stain in any way with any sign
here they wander back and forth
engrossed in pleasures new and old
but who will clean the dishes later?
And who will feed the children?