Poetry of Issue #8        Page 2

RIVERS OF BABEL

I live in a language
halfway between
ink and blood

I travel on a road
eroded and erased
too many times

asleep at the wheel
I drink the bitter ink
linking paper chains

what I want to say
has the staying power
of hawks in the wind

i sacrifice sanity
to a familiar diet
of roses and razors

I judge no language
of judges to be born
from the exile of black robes

who needs my honey
needs my salt

David Gershator