The dash at the jugular
makes the wild stars sob, thrusts a hymn
skyward, and over the hills
a drowned frog sways
in a puddle all alone.
Forever is the fame
of the storyteller and the mask.
Forever is watching the zodiac turn
and the thumb nails crack,
is killing a smile after a
stranger passes and hiding
our wounds from the mirror.
Over the city the caged sun rises.
And the wings we are born with have
all been buried in the marrow of the land.
I feed, the flame feeds and so do the innocent.
Some day the clocks stop and God will be seen
in every beast and in every pavement crack.