BRIGHT and PURE
She was dressed in moths,
eternity.
Airy cages
feed the pigeons
eat the pigeons. Peck at your faith.
Trees came into the city, hungry.
Meat, cigarettes, toll-booths are all about
the roosting of energy.
Dappled, fickle days-
she sings while drowning.
We are set here to injure and heal -
live with these split, spilt imperatives...
largely without question.
The man sat under those trees and planned his assault.
My cough comes bright as cherries,
arches of my feet crash in the dust,
we shed our cells to make
our prayer mats. You are my fist.
We all “deserve” everything except punishment. I pray
that god exists, we could use a hand.