Ceramic

The pot within which
All our choices boil,
And bew the hallmarks
Of our insanities,

We massacred the prophets
And the saints,
And gave up God
For laundry baskets.

To clean the sheets
Of our prophetic winds,

And emaciated
Twin beds
Could hold us in their arms.

While we gather
For a fort,
The tears and anguish
Of our disunion’s state.

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