• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 12
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Crazy girl

she painted a blue river,
yes, blue on blue,
where rain had room to fall
and stars had dropped by at night.

Crazy girl, why would she do that?
she knows we fed the blue to grey
with our urban garbage.

With nowhere else to go the rain fell on
cluttered land and storm washed our
white bags full of wood and metal mimicry
to feed the meander of plastic soup,
the detritus lacing our riverbanks.

Thing is girl:
we feed the fish with false food,
the river feeds the ocean
and the fish deliver our discards back
to us on a plate.