God’s away on business

Rebecca Hurwitz/Staff

Berkeley November 9, 2016

We’ve walled out what we ought’ve walled in

Within the city of the defeated, the air tastes like acid rain

Night unending is come again

A man walks dazed down the avenue, speaking in a loop: “Simon says, eat five hundred bowls of oatmeal

Simon says

Shoot yourself”

Emaciated men and women

Cocooned in filthy sleeping bags eyes of

The liberal intelligentsia

Gaze unfixed, wet and peeled

Were we this hungry?

The hangmen have all bought judge’s robes

Stocked up on rope the infomercial gurus

Visualize Washington the gambling pimps

Feel sanctified and inside the besieged city

Lament and rage mix like snow upon snow:

Grief fastens itself to the heart

Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani

“God’s away!

God’s away!

God’s away!

On business!



Memento Of Civility

We made unions in the azaleas

That night’s soft dew ratified

And morning’s etched light erased:

We stumbled onto the snails’ wet signature

Where the serrated leaf lie overturned

Where the worms had pushed from the soil fresh fattened –

Your eyes wet and weary unrelenting gazed

Your voices a stone diligence

Choir the stars together in lament.


On Suggestions I Flee

What good would packing up do?

Everywhere the brick-and-mortar-men sell their wares

Can hardly walk 3,000 miles

Without being stopped short by a wall

Limits were not conferred on the sky love and chaos simply

Fell together one day in the beginning like coffee into a cup

Taken at morning when light is gold superadded to gold

With arms exuberantly poised to embrace every inch of the earth.