Into the Teeth of the Wind

Joa Speilman

Untitled

pink handled pliers
chew
on wires
rusted through
from years outside.
the metal lied.
it was not stronger
than the air.
I can’t
repair the water’s work.
its art prevails
unto itself
diminishing
the hardened wealth.
the earth’s own ware.
I sit                  
and      
          stare
-slow-ly    
              -re-cord
                          -de-cay.