crawling gods of
hidden worlds, secret lives they only
see flying by in flashes of reflected light
get closed like boxes born in paper factories
printed labeled and stamped by your favorite
old grown men dead eyed and stained
packet-pocketed, paid and drained--
public spaces closed around us shedding
pieces of their final persons--
grey plague magi rooted, gaunt in neat arrangement
resembling cloaked crucifixes in stinging desert winds.
another sweet and fickle beast
unleashed in an old metropolis, where the
dreams sound like wishes gone mad.
in time the new hearts chirp their mirth, coughing up
thoughts they've kicked around re: the next
day after's answers. they punctuate my sentences and have
no memory of the silences they've impregnated
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