7 years ago there were no houses
there across the bay
just dust, rock, prickly bushes,
the sigh of open spaces
now there are concrete clusters
empty palaces
for the worthy
everyplace i go they sprinkle water on the dirt
to sprout these hutches
a morning rash across a spread
of marble skin.
harvest the cash crop of pus
and keep your head above the water.
there's sound across the evening town
like a hammer
there's a whisper in the tiny streets
like running water
the cry of a child paying with pyrites
in the conviction of his find
in the horrors to unfold.
'mother." you will cry
"Mother!"