569. MAN UP EARLY TO DISTURB THE RAIN

MAN UP EARLY
TO DISTURB THE RAIN
I have no excuse for the wobbling of the planet -
how space elides the stars and everything above
us changes. I just know the errant meaning
of what we judge. The past, made of people,
is nothing. Every Swanson and Lechmor,
merely names to learn. They've mostly
paved Chicago with stories of ale-pot
fury - old industries now gone to seed;
Detroit too, Cleveland, the whole
great Monongahela.
-
Over in Pittsburgh, those storied and
furious mills are now silent and shut,
as quiet as some nun in an outhouse,
seething with embarrassment to publicly
pass her shit. It's all no matter what came
before - we are doused with our own
new stupidity, crippled, and wobbling too.
-
It is said the stars pass no judgment.
It is said the planets, ever silent, don't
even see us in our folly - thus we are
more aware of them then they are ever
of 'we'. They have no concept such
as that. They just rest, as a fired mind,
blazing - a wild consciousness drawn
deep into space; a wild mind
setting the furies afire.