cloud shadow on you
things become what they are:
drabness drab heat hot cold cool poverty poor

I think of cloth
how they must darken in you
how stiff they must become
it didn't rain really since I am here
only at night rain and wind leaving no trace just damp on the streets

your tears must be dark brown slime
sliding along everything in reach
now you are flowing above the garbage
flowing over the wooden plank the old man slept on yesterday
the ditch is caving in
mud oozes under and though the bars
all Hull seems to be sliding melting away
only the flood of the morning turns everything to stream again to blossom again
only the standing still of the evening turns everything to soften to be lazy

I hear you rise
I squat to you
I sleep in you
I dream no dream
the nights are deep
some places are like that good-sleep places
strange so far small carpeted rooms without an open window were the worst places for a good-night sleep
but some places are like that
good-sleep places
I turn soft

aren't you no water anymore?


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