There is an inside quiet place

Where nomadics move about

More than several inland routes

No one has count how many

Where two rivers flow confluentially

The water let loose became three subsequently


Out of cedar, poplar, alder, spruce

The flow once held tight by their roots

“Stewards” of the earth

Uprooted their roots sending them down as sticks

Made the two into three

three into four, five and six


Dynamited to many diversions

river surgeon triumphs salmon and sturgeon

covers wet earth in bricks

Confluenced ground

hollowed out with poverty all around

starfire burned

sending sawmills to the ground


Then blockhouses

military formations

thoughts of the square man

he thinks in squares

acts in squares

he is stuck

he is conquered

he has a routine

and it never changes


The confluence

Met new masters of water:

department and corporation

laws of military, tradepost, colony, station.

Democracy, channels, underground subway

Subsurface voids sucking river away


Disappearing river

turns dry bed

sitting in empty canoes

are ghosts of the dredge


Death to the fascist insect!

Full of shit and fat with money

Talks shit out of ugly head

Makes nose runny from lead


Beneath the starfire

Psychopathic creator of justice

Keeps war pyre

and feeds self sick with maggot empire