WALKING DOWN A ROAD BUILT FOR SOMEBODY ELSE

College kids scream on porches
and in freshly painted rotting houses

while the professors, too tired to plot revolution,
fall asleep in their armchairs.

When I draw near to the dead
the trees get taller.

There is a moon-dissolve taking place
in the clouds in the pines.

The eye like a frightened white rat
winks for me frantically.

The beercan next to the river is tilting
towards me and away from time.

The frogs are louder than my heart.
An old lichen-covered temple comes crashing down
somewhere in the woods.

We are together in the metal and the moss.
Together in the muck under the stream
and grasses turning dry above the water.

I'm in a graveyard and I'm about to take my clothes off
but I'm afraid the police will come and interrupt
my rebirth.