[one hundred, sixty-seven]

If it feels anything it feels upwards the motion of the stream
but it feels it downwards at extreme pressure and speed,
if it feels emotions it feels screaming terror that goes racing down
falling into the nape of the neck cold sweat hair standing,

If it knows something it knows it all with the wind of men flailing
their arms through and under it, showering themselves and sighing,
and if it knows something it knows nothing, the men fall without
knowing or loving or wanting, desire desire into the fire,

If it rubs the rocks it rubs the shaking trembling rocks, the low
the low, the low scraping strong logs breaking like bridges,
like steady stable strings that hold the place together,
if it rubs the rocks it rubs the depths of the bottoms of the gone,

If it tries, it goes.

focus: crazy waterfall poetry with no point at all.

Jess :]