by Jake Berry

A fist around the edges —
at the heart

The garter worn twisted

Thieves torn
from their barracks
and scattered

Names are traded
at the temple gate

Carcass swells
in splendid arrangement

Slowly the loom
stolen to rust,
the prime generator

Who are these liars
that captivate the populace ?
Is the body of fear
a new and reeking
God ?

Leave them lie
and they will rise
into an impotent cloud
and piss
the backward flood

Take to the closet
and cry out

The rain lilies
don’t give a damn
They know the lawn mowers
are coming