What good could it do—
holding sway, relinquishing rule—
at a time like this?
As if the mountain peaked and obliterated
himself.
No, but it was the flick of God’s golden wrist.
(And who would that make me
to render God wicked?)
A fine wine turned to water as
king after fallen king trip over his own crown.
How many psalms I have ached to spawn!
Oh, to spew sunsets reflected on salt-peppered coastlines,
A butterfly’s violent rupture into rapture,
Puppies
All the while the outcry in Gaza, a malignant mental knot—
A young girl’s unraveling braid is pulled by her brother
a relentless bickering
Over who got more cheddar on their grilled cheese.
Poppa, furious at their unwillingness to relinquish
Who really put bread on the table.
One of these days I’m going to sing sunshine out my hindquarters
Boom fireworks like fireflies on a summer night.
On this night though?
This inkblack eve dripping virulent dew
across an entire planet?
I hold my palms upward cradling
my heart broken but beating (even still),
an offering.
Post// “I’ve seen what happens to the wicked and proud when they decide to try and take on the throne for the crown”- Brand New
