tavern
Her light and pour me another
every
time we turn from the Sun
night
falls prey to shadows
peddles mystics
tides
each pattern in the nature
of our civilized human frenzy
we
find an identity in
some
days when we crane our necks to think
looking
up at the pin-pricked black sack cloth sky
we might even pray right
we might even have some humility
that
we will know why we've come this way
that
we will know even in some limited stolen sensed why
that
we may only get to see the promised land from a distance
those Heavens in thinning books will always be
just beyond our physical reach
we
are the clan of Moses
we
want Her back
we
want Her to have
our
mythological surrender
the
Goddess knows
She
is being written out of books
to
ensure the world looks
for
power first and Love second
but
we don't care how things are supposed to be
in
broken glass passed as truth
we
dare anyone not to see what is beneath
the
skin of things as if the wired mechanics
the
holes in the story can mask any scent
with
a holier than thou
they
turn every Her into the grotesque
in
order to find their macabre believable
artfully selling the rest of Her beauty in this delusion
of
turning pages with numbered verses and repeated chants
recant,
recant, recant the birds echo in the spill of Dawn
stop
mutilating Her genitalia, one girl at a time
stop
pretending Jesus didn't fuck
stop
pretending that you don't understand
all
your luck is running out
like
the dead light of stars
spilling
pointed shouts
because
everyone knows
it's
almost closing time around here
EJR
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