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Harlot's Claim |
We began in the forgotten cemetery,
world of masks and anxious history,
where the dead anchored their words
holy in expanding darkness.
Time contracting to reveal
a biomorphic darkness;
Jesus stuck in the past,
university of dead insights and fear.
Priestess of form and perspective
allowed thoughts of regret
to swallow her exuberance,
her misremembered religion.
Mary saw our bird bodies in flight,
we kept mating even in the street,
fan of stretched feathers, broken skin,
paired breath sudden and clear.
copyright 2014
Terry
Wolverton |
