The Bloodbath

            When the seeds of sibilance find earth in your stomach,

            And stocks in fallow economies plummet;

            A party of militants put their weight on your chest,

            And the fleet-footed seraphim have all acquiesced;

            If the poison leaks in through a vulnerable vein,

            And finds its way into that beautiful brain,

            I’ll bleed the Mississippi red,

            So you can jump in and soak your head.

            If it’s time to get clean I’m a river of green,

            Expelling the sorrows of your lackluster dream,

            Letting them out into the great unseen;

            Eroding the terror of your paralyzed screams

            And the ruination of your true-hearted schemes

            So that somebody somewhere could find some relief

            In the comical nature of your self-imposed grief

            And deltas could form among desolate streets

            In the visceral spaces where nobodies meet.