Friday, June 09, 2017

Barefooted






Barefooted
I was honestly concerned he might lie
about the nature of our meeting
Comey before Congress

My chest is frozen, Frost Island.
In the face of God, there is no kiss
going for the coins & the prisoner
because yesterday he stole
the light that was leaving us.

I have returned shattered
by the snappers from your coast
the ones inhibiting your other shore
―distinctly to the plate & to the chair
you gave us at birth, but it's not over.

The cold darkness in your pantry,
the naked man that only thinks
of eating a piece of his own agony.

My chest is frozen
before the naive Archer of light
& the downpour of rain,
stag of the Fatherland.



No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

Followers


Typying