Treasure Island

Matt Ullman

(9-22-1971 / Chicago)

Utopia for Two

There's a hand that moves to feed
The people of a city
Where lights that fit concrete
Bring a pureness to urbanity
Pretenders to the sun
Bringing fire to their hearts
To which belongs each angled passion
Fitting limbs of woman and man

There are streets to fit the earth
Over which nobody rules
Underneath the setting sun
The flames that fit the darkness
Break the blackness of the soil
To which belongs mortality

Where the roots that leave the earth
Dare not return unchanged
Bring the semblance of a fool
The vanity of glass
To every grain of sand
Which belongs to ruined nations
Precedes the beat of rain
That fits the strength of trees

Under sky so limitless
By which the hand still seethes
To rid the simple stone
Belonging to the flesh
And spoil every ocean
The waters of its toil
There's the sea that fits the sky
Whose evasiveness fits heaven

Through the heavens much like earth
There's a mood to fit each moment
Which belongs to one blind hope
The dream of silken whispers
Which fit the flesh of hand
Be it friend or foe of man

The hand that fits the body
Clay belonging to the soul
With the cloth it fits the loin
Cloth belongs to modesty
But for the grace of every thought
Which fits our destiny
Words will fit the pouring rain
From the mouth that always hungers

Submitted: Monday, December 11, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, December 08, 2010

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