We’ll Wait For The Drop by Robin Wyatt Dunn

we’ll wait for the drop
of the weight
of the bag of the day

overhead, the helicopter is singing
and the people are shouting in the street
and the sirens are wailing by

blaring to god
about patience
and blood

I’m this we
hovering over the dust of the city
demanding answers, not getting them,
and scribbling into my notebook

all the names they taught me as a child
what is the name for this?

he whose mane is lightning
and burnt like Icarus, but not dead

the survivor of the fall

we’re cooking bacon over Western
over the smell of the burnt rubber

Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in Los Angeles. In this picture he is holding his tiny chapbook MARY, from Rinky Dink Press.