Waters in those dreams
are what honesty feels like.
Ventriloquists throw trash at my feet.
I climb the vine to the valley.
You should read Ntozake Shange’s
for further interpretation.
Who exactly is the lunar translator?
You rush the rivers
to your capital cities,
to your toxic waste dumps
and in the scorn and the flight
of a liberated song,
you get a marred religious experience.