JoyLights
sacklock and tempered the reflection
forward they run
arms frightfully
rumpled
rinsing their buckets with
praire-bleach
should she call out the name
that will burn the sky?
we surrender our strength
with balled up hands.
warm
bleach cascading
over our shoulders
the memory of
a moth for which struggled
to dry its own wings in our rain
armies clumping near the
nothern borders
so that the passage
shall not be sought
and the millions
traveling North with only
shackles and a mask
need not look up into the amber fog
they too
have the negligent acid
fumbling down thier arms
but whispers have
a way of transcending
into fists
as do eyes in their way
of deconstructing
the soft material of breath.
I have never seen
you before
but I have felt
the distance you have left behind
the surface tension of the water
has been restored
I am tired of believing in you
but I am bored
and have nothing better to do.
And thats when it hurts
because the water is no
different within your mouth
or mine.
