Insecticide #19

Rip apart the seams,
unveil the bride of your desire,
catch her in the fire,
let the light be born in twain.

And only an incendiary
remains.

If you can call
upon the breath of our created state,
deeply and fiercely groan,

I will call for you,
when the patience
of God’s tenement
unsteadies my hands,
and I am falling,

Even as I fall I pray.

To one day,
see my body blessed
and standing
on the ocean’s shore,
where we break bread.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *