A muddy river, thick with silt,
half trees and trash,
flows slowly past the city, slipping
under bridges, competing with barges,
rolling through like in dreams when you
feel your running underwater.
Docks and spits of land reach out at
the passing debris; bulldogs inspecting
their next meal.
Stone legs from a train overpass push back
against the mud and garbage as it pounds
its foundation like the devil wanting blood.
The sounds of filth rumbles on to the
next town.
Roger Singer 