Son of Raurus falling sound
King of water all around
That fills the sky with dew

The fractals of these waters high
Climbing down to meet the tide
Sweetly in November rain

Eroded tongues that stick on out
To catch the falling endless spout
Even in still of winter blend

These rocks that climb up rung by rung
Forever climbing to the sun
To greet the morning light

The endless water ever falls
Enormous water-winged wall
Wetting all that pass on by

As I cross slender golden gate Québec sunset
I dream of the old Golden Gate; long lost psychopomp
drunk at typewriter in rheumy-eyed fog

and old Golden Lion, gay and howling in firelight New York
building fond memories of the old man back home
imparting wisdom in a cloud of mint smoke

Driving out past clear blue sky in early autumn heat
great iron bridges with drooping sleeping half-moon eyes;
their yawn the endless moving waters below

The stone children hiding underneath a quilt
of dirt brown and green and mycelium grove grey
who turn slowly as the ground turns as sleepless nights are had in the underground kingdom of a lost Eastern mountain range

The valleys are wide and I sometimes find myself looking straight down over a crest, into the edge of a picture memory of the Rockies back West

Roads in the West;
dynamite is cheaper
than asphalt

I can't for the life of me keep an orchid alive.
I've had three or four but they never survive.
I may try once more in hopes to achieve,
the most beautiful flower I've ever perceived.

I'm tired from work
But I'm close to home
My parcels are heavy
As are my feet

I stop on the tallest hill
I light my last cigarette
And sit
And stare
Over half the city
For the first time

There's a girl in a bottom window
She wipes the oven clean
And prepares her meal
She has raven hair and wears plaid
I can't see her face

I finish my cigarette
And head downhill
Home

It's all about the moon
the moon knows everything
about you and I and them and that!
The moon saw the holocaust
saw Caesar get stabbed
saw a miracle grow in Mary's belly
was there on your first birthday
puts France and Zimbabwe
and Brandon, Manitoba to sleep
every night
and still has time to shine
with the sun some days

-Melissa Nadine Flowers

Throw away your brooms and your mops

and all the tops to your good old canned goodies

and in fact throw your little cans of goody foods

with soups and little fruities away down

your flight of stairs and flight of windows down

those shining new linoleum walls



no need to worry about garbage here in these streets

so clean so clean so mean, and lean

and here everyone cries their child cries

and their bottles whistle that empty milk whistle

red wine milk drink drunk drank drinker



old clean city blues I see your dirt musings

can’t hide from me this great dirt

more dirt here than dirt itself has to offer

all things candy coated sticky nightlife

sticky affluence all your feet

stick to the black tar candy sucker floor



and I see you’ve been rat-free for thirty years

no bugs no slugs no moss

only late night sad sauce

always empty and wanting more

no rats no cats no dogs here

only cowboy hats

and all those old boys move
on down South anyway