The River Runs Foul

The river runs foul
from the gates where my father once stood
down to the apple trees
from mirror to the gutter
we run streaks of stardust
and funny dumb dreams of shattered warmth
happiness is nothing but a smile

I detect her here in the warm night air
I move silent, I do not wish to be seen

The river runs south
Thru ghettos and starched neighborhood squares
And everywhere the dogs howl
I don't even trust the hum of my own voice here
My own impermanence haunts me
But this thought alone relieves the pressure
From the mirrors to the gutters done
Gutter tongued, my heart speaks to the silence in me
Let me walk alone, home
As the dead stoplights wave good night


2004 Billy Corgan, Blinking with Fists.