Mark Williams – Wind
They move on two legs
but they don’t move like me
I blow in
and outta
of time
and take with me
every
baby’s cry
liquid orgasmic howl
the inconsolable wail
of their mourners
the speeches
of their primp’d
and mirror-struck
leaders
the footfalls
of their ceaseless
armies
and, too, the things they can’t shake off:
the memory of a Wednesday afternoon
in September
that will never come
again
I mix these things with
pollen and bee music
the flight-deck wisdom of birds
rusted leaves
seeds and spores
I plant
I fan flames
I cool desire
in the right mood
I uproot neighborhoods
blow neon signs
on beachfront bars
and knock pricey seashore condos
back down
among the sharks
and I am left
to glide and jitter
over the ruins
of every empire
the Two Legs
thought would last
a thousand years
or more
I carry the residue
of volcano
asteroid
and atom bomb
and someday, too,
the last wolf song
the one last flap of wing
and on the solar giant’s
last hot exhalation
I will breathe myself
out into space
thinning
spreading
giving final voice to every
bug buzz and bit
of bramble music
that was fed me.
MLW
January-February 2004 Earth First!