The heart is not a shiv
Which can be thrust upon
In times of unease,
Loneliness is the defining feature
Of all hierarchies.
So long as there is a steeple
There is a ruin of trust beneath
And a foundation of gore
Whose precise transmission
Can not be wholly sanctified.
We idle expensively
Gypsum dreams crumbling
In the courier’s purse.
I crossed the park into the city
A webbing of steel carcasses
Exalting a skyline smudged
In charcoals and prosaic blues
*
There are no angels in this city
Only precarious thighs
*
I watched each would be consumer
As they weaved their spindly souls
Through red lit alleys and glass facades
Wanton arms leaden,
Dent-less lips liberally greased
*
The Devil suffers no shortage of idle hands
*
Impotent souls yield adroitly to greed
Everyone here wants to be someone else
To evade consequence and intimacy
For their fragment of prefab paradise
*
Empty eyes always hunger
mindlovemisery 