the mayor

for j.t.

There is rain tonight, that once fell
in patterned rivers starred on edge
with covered torches, silver roads,
but this cold dirt drinks it, and
I sleep tonight with a different name.

Each marble was in green mortar
mayflies bounce on chipped drywall
and the hallway filled with stereos
blaring guitars and heavy drumstick – and
I sleep tonight with a different name.

The geese turn croaking, crows wheel
As falcons would, the deep mists
waves banners, rusted mufflers parked
in the glass dome’s ring seat, so
I sleep tonight with a different name.