Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
DESOLATION
BY DAVIS
We are tired of the benches, our beds in the park,
We welcome the sundown that heralds the dark.
White Lady Methylate!
Keep us warm and from crying.
Hold back the hate
And hasten the dying.
The tribes are all gone,
The spears are all broken:
Once we had bread here,
You gave us stone