IRRECONCILIATION by FRANCES BROWN (20TH CENTURY)

Tonight the moon hangs low, low,
And the moon is silver-thin.
The air is drenched with a sea wind
From the sea's rim.
The buildings hump like beasts against the sky,
While one by lovely one the stars go by.

@3Brother, can you spare a dime?
No. -- Damn loafer!@1

The empty stomach turns, turns,
The hungry muscle twists.
The empty fingers dangle limp
From the loose wrists.
Sleep keeps no company with unfed eyes,
And thin blood races while the body dies.

@3These sons of bitches, here --
They won't work.@1

The screaming nerves reach out, out,
And touch an iron star.
Who can eat moonlight? Only the dead
Frequent that bar.
They who are drenched with wind are humped and thin;
Only the safe and fed can let stars in.

@3Comrades! There will be food
And shelter for us!@1

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