Fever

@ @

In an open field at dusk

to footfalls I awoke

marching ants across my temples

their feet had no intention

they followed some magnetic drum

prisoners of their destination

from the slats of the factory come

where once they did make rails

old Death's peculiar songs

he didn't know I was listening

so he crowed out nice and long

to the spiders and the lumber

and the dust of his conquest

and his hunger and his lust

I heard his feet rejoice

I heard him tap his cane

as if he had his own review

on stage at the F and M

I caught his words in my open mouth

I gagged and choked and spit them out

I heard him turn his heated ear

my tiny heart beat in his ear

I was already running

oh, I heard him coming

shrapnel spitting from his wheels

his sobbing arms raked for my heels

I dove and rolled and hid my face

and I said these magic words:

my dove is home

her breast is warm

my dove is home

and I said these magic words

and fell down, down the anthill for days

my dove is home

her breast is warm

my dove is home

my dove is home

her breast is warm

my dove is home