of no land
i plant

jo-joba in con-
centric circles

around the latrine

the rats hate it
and it sells

well to the upper-class
sometime last week

after the tea-party and
before the free-dead risers

the kids all got the cough
and i felt the air begin to die

we started what they’ve named
the dryland march

bivouacked i carry water
for three

and teach them to sing
the dream songs

we talk about shade-heaven
and the peacefulness of bridges

how much our teeth hurt
and why we love it

right before it rains
we get to stop

await the spark
and life can catch and gather

mostly i try
to help everyone