what have you got at the end of the day
when the maid is paid and she’s gone away with
your rags and the tags
of industry, the blood and the
brains of enemies, the loves and the
lies of the infidel, the tells
and the sighs. infant shell. dreams.
what have you got at the start of the night
when the leaves fall like bells and the stars
fail their light. what have you got to keep at
bay the warp and the weft of black
dismay coming down the street like it owns
the town and knows my name and stares me down.
what have you got to lift me up to lift
me up to lift me up. what have you got.
- © dennis landi 2006
