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.
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