Over as rivers are over
Hiding in a homeland that moved, I am there
for the new era in violin, writing a religion
where many of them run into any of them.
With sons over and over-reserved overseas,
I was over and over and over owned by the end.
We are over as rivers are over
and over the original hours.
Removed from the route,
there is a blend of men
in a world that maddens them.
They are moved to the used
and have no known.
That, there, is an unknown number of men I’ve known.
I have known enough of them forever overthrown,
where they hide in rows of running water.
Our mother’s have raised the matter over and over
and over the phone, yet our daughters
have lost arms, hands, and the memory
of being held on the river.