Dark Matter

after years of having
too much hard living
shoved down her throat

it had become so steep
any word weaker than a sherpa
couldn’t get out of her

and they all carried
heavy loads
and left a lot of debris

when they reached the summit
and stopped to plant
a triumphant red flag

so it was no surprise
that a lot of people
started taking roads

around her
through
flatter lands

and left her there
in the rarefied air
she couldn’t help breathing

folk wisdom says
a hole dug under a waxing moon
will never take back all the dirt

a hole dug under a waning moon
will always leave a depression
no matter what’s been buried there

clean cut men and women
are coming home with murders in their minds
to stand under moons fogged by city lights

or moons as clear
as broken promises
in the dark skies of small towns

thinking of shallow graves
dug in stony sand
and perfect corners cut in cemetery sod

they stumble through the moonlight
tripping on dips
in the ground before them

some move more unsteadily than others
some fall
face down in overgrown lawns

where the grass grows
longer and lighter
over old holes

some regain
their balance
and go inside

kiss their lovers
hold their children
try to even up the footing

always watching
where
they step

on the moon
holes are
virtually eternal

so few changes
once they’re dug
visible for all to see

no matter the waxing
or waning
of earth

every night
clean cut men and women
stand in the streets

thinking of war on earth
and dreaming of walking
on the moon

faithful, faithful

that radio is
like they show in the news
a muezzin
calling me to prayer
towers out there stand
electric
calling

faithful, faithful

from town to town different voices
call it out the same

faithful, faithful

a guy can drive across this land
from strong signal
to crossfading channels
and then to static
punch the scan button
then hear it grow again
from the next city’s near fringe
to the far side of its suburbs

faithful, faithful

and the message
changes but never changes really

you gotta love somebody
you used to love somebody
you need to love somebody
I used to love somebody
somebody come love me
nobody’s gonna love me like you
like her like him
I’ll never love nobody like you
like him like her
shake the body you’ve got
move the body you’ve got
work the body you’ve got
give me a body to love
I’m gonna love your body
you’re gonna love my body
I’m always gonna be true to some body
I was hurt by somebody
I am somebody
I am the only somebody
you’re ever gonna need
and I’ll always be

faithful, faithful

scripture
is what that is
gospel of longing
borne like adhan
like salat
through dry heat
through storm-wet soaking
through the night and the morning drive

to lonely truckers in shirtsleeves
with their brown arms out their windows

to frazzled carpool parents
brushing back sweaty hair
deliberately not hearing their dearest brats
at war in the seat behind them

to teenage smartasses
imagining their own heartbreaks
lifted from their private karaoke mouths
to God’s ear
the words of the kid star of the moment
that (wonder of wonders!) mirror their own

to veteran couples,
widows, widowers
caught on the wave
of the call of long-thought dead crooners raised up like Lazarus
to say that yes, there is a way
to move and be whole again
when all is thought lost

to the workers
pushing boxes at behest of pushers
into slots and crates for shipping
pushing pencils and keys at behest of pushers
into hours and hours of dull eyed barely conscious faked verve

to everyone who remains

faithful, faithful

the call comes to them
softly so as not to break the uneasy peace of the cubicle farm
loudly to drown the boredom and the strain of the factory line
to pierce the steampunk sludging of traffic along the highways

but still
it comes

faithful, faithful

and before you say it
and i know you will
before you do it
and I know you want to

don’t bother holding up
that solid state sliver in your pocket
with its forked thread and earbuds
and try to tell me that is the true light and the only path

because the muezzin knows the way of faith
is the way of surprises
and you chose every verse that’s in there
so any surprise you get from that thing
is one you set in motion yourself
any verse you cock your ear to
is a verse you already knew

the call going out over open air
may always be one of the wrestling for love
but a new voice will always rise to chant it anew
and how you gonna know when to dance to it
if you don’t see your neighbors
start to move
because your ears are all stopped up
with what you already know?

turn it up
turn it up

faithful, faithful

AM
FM
satellite
stream

the minarets are ringing
with the call

waiting for you
to respond

it’s a cool tape
someone’s gonna put it on the Web

there’s a lot of silence
punched up with sick sounds once in a while

that’s me yelling "abort abort abort"
by now you’ll know if I heard