Harbinger

Buried in a half casket;
My little boy,
Swollen with makeup and injections,
Without the breath of life.

Satan’s irrigations,
The culmination
Of transparencies;
As the forgotten
Decide what’s wrong and right.

My little lonely forceps,
The brain of anticipation;
A cutting of the umbilical,
When we mistake our pain for grief.

The lightning rod seized
The four corners of the earth,
And a little bit of Heaven,
Spun down
By the fallen angels.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s