Saturday, December 1, 2012

I Make Fish Spit


I make fish spit francs and dollars
when I want them to; I am the one
who mashed the gold you mint under mountains; in fact,
I made those too, their peaks and all, where brave men freeze, dying
to conquer. Why raise your hand against me?
I could snap your fingers with my mind. I want you to know

I won’t. I want to help you
see beyond the blinding sun.