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.