2 September 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 3

Useless Song

by JULIET PATTERSON

Wake up 5 a.m. & the prairie is raining

white birds. The moon appears. The moon

circles the sky. My mouth is a dead lamp

looking for its light. The river is a tape loop

saying goodbye. The moon is dead. The moon

is dead, is dead. Maybe I am now about to die

the death of endeavor. Maybe I am about to discover

pleasure. Maybe. This is not exactly what I mean

anymore than the sun is the sun. I keep dreaming

about men. It is not sad or I would laugh.

With the mind goes a world, with the heart

goes the weather. What progress after the hawk?

Rabbit, rabbit in the dark of the moon. Dogs dream

a scent, but nothing is quicker

than prey.