Would you take your daughter there,
the unholiest there you guess
you could go?
Posted inArts & Culture, Poetry
Would you take your daughter there,
the unholiest there you guess
you could go?
Well, I am shy of miracles
and shy of the talk of miracles.
After the word is forgotten and discovered,
and streamed until it’s nothing,
she is not here.
I’m caught in my longing to be with you somewhere else.
Christ shining, Christ gold, dawn
in a fragile frame
I decide on wide slashes—precise but hungry,/as if the soldier had wanted to peel into the heart—
I’m tired
of the world’s incessant
buzz and scrutiny, the news
and the news of the news,
the onslaught.
it has / become the norm / to claim your side / just scored.