Catching a sunny shade of flush,
each pouch of air greets a palm,
while whistling into oblivion.
The flocks of angels compose
the floating wool of skies
at the cemetery’s prize.
Iris for cornea, the poke
of revenge exacts its violence
for beings alive: politics over heaven.
The blind party of thumbs punch
and hors d’oeuvres of deception
wrestle into grounds.
The diplomat of preemptive strikes
grabs attention of foe to farm
using foreign toil and soil.
The only hell singeing waits on
the taste buds of the victor —
over easy or shoe leather kisser.
Facing the Many Small Bangs
The freak planet among stars
seemed to require leaning
on crosses and crescents.
Step two left the lame
wielding crutches to maim
swingers with opposing limps
and occasional and avid walkers.
Propping gods by the armpits,
evangelists threaten with club mentality
deviation from rite routines:
Emergency wards surrounded
and flattened dwellings on tomorrow.
Martyred secularists lined the roads
holding olive branches between teeth.
Of course the butchers and bakers
represent clergy using reliable gadgets
to give moms and dads meaning.
But the butchers and bakers
stand in for high-tech innovators also.
Both limb loppers continue
to conduct inquisitions to garner
warriors on knees. Scheherazade,
the cosmic dancer, survives
children denying that the dark owns.