Unto the Dry Air

When the copper ran out for the mould
it must have looked like I was trying to fly
but I was digging my grave
with the clang of a shovel
like a drum before every stupid war,
like waking engulfed in the timeless ritual of sound.

I watched the melting metal in my hand saying
Look at me now
Look at me now that the statue has thawed.
What am I but another fool to fill
the steps of men who laughed on the path to the sun
with bodies of steel?

Sinking down in the rain street drain,
I laugh like a dog crawling back to the womb.