rock music. kuwait.

the words don't matter the

words never mattered we

wouldn't be here if

there were words that mattered

our work is all in words that fall

away to nothing shatter

inconsequential small drifts of air

upward maybe caught

in the horizon glow

from the burning oil well

they're always burning

we don't know why we

don't know why but

if they stop burning

we stop burning

our job is burning.

beneath us and

around us and

above us and

forever and forever

this desert resounds,

a cavern-sound, echo

the words lost in brilliant

endless din we wait we wait

the horse-bones quiver waiting

and waiting and screaming

and waiting and tomorrow

and tomorrow we will not

remember today we will not

remember the haunting

haunting cry-

that rises above our words

and the music they play for us,

that cry will come day and

day and day, pentameter of

day and every time it comes

we will hear it new, and duck

from that valley carved in

our words that don't matter

(someone is here)

it doesn't matter the

(they stop and no matter-)

burning oil the burning

(-what they stop and)

desert the burning

(somewhere underneath older things)

burning forever sky.