fresh water


By Mike O’Connell
rivers run beneath us
subterranean waterways
licking at the land
returning toxins to their
sources and when the waters
run recede that sheen
remains persistent with
odors hovering covering
slivers of dry with with little
white houses sticking up lakes
for lawns cars forever silent
washed away like ghost
ships seeking the sea
we throw them numbers
paper towels to fill their
lives flooded drained while
their dogs cats witness
the end of the world



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