Howling Waste

if i ever forget you,
o Poor of the earth,
may my tongue cling
to the roof of my mouth—
acid, and restless.

the rabid texture of your walls—
insipid, deified, dedicated—
bespeak a suffering deeper than bone,
more internal than blood and heartbeat.

o Poor one,
you, YOU, ‘o faceless,’ i whisper
(—do i know You?),
stumble into hatreds,
traversing brick and concrete
that reflect only disgust

shaking, trembling,
into the gait
of an indifferent world,
pitiless (and) infinite

slipped
in the world,
thankless and fallen,
thankless and fallen.