ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
WELCOME TRASH HAULERS
our miles of caves where
we can sell space for others' garbage:
what of their possessions died
and was never reborn
under our feet the chambers of discarded dead
at the moment before dawn their cries come up
through the soil we have inherited
like dew it catches in the grass
they want to come back to be handled by men
to be placed in womens' secret dresser drawers
to be sold in some internal sidewalk sale
or left along the highway again
but we will not allow
it was to achieve this end
that we sold our underdirt
and became the wardens of uselessness
-- unless some providential rain floods them
and us out of and off the receptive ground
and so on out to sea or seas
for tides to move and stars to fall in