Body of Truth
Mist casts from the fountain
with dogs under maples
as kids run in arcs, hands
stretched out in a lesser city
stretched out in a lesser city
by an outsized body of water
A great lake of gulled masts
listening to guitar, bathed
naked by her voice
with nothing to worry about
I reassure myself
Something like a storm approaching
how music pours—no,
floods
in swirls of power the color of bruises
from branches, to the stoned shore
go music and children
Deep-breath and calm
some quality of mind
needed, wide-eyes
or else we fail to imagine
at the edge of water
Her lyrics are dishonest
what Romans breathed
in their last plucked strings
in fact, decay
she asks, do you believe?
You can be sure
faith strands in sickponds
when you are gone
under layers of myth
between death and crap
Myth, a holy salve
smoothing down doom
with hallelujahs, he is risens
he is risen indeed
like methane fumes
Your blood will first be pumped
maybe some formaldehyde
or incinerator and boneyard
cherry with varnish, or cardboard
jewelry boxes for our detritus
Her voice wafting
heavy as a headstone
straight and polished
eulogizing grass and giggles
and yes, the water
Give me that source of myth
water, the familiar element
always afloat in itself
but sprinkle it over
the body of truth
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