Children with guns
In the church they worship spiders, on T.V.
Christ with a neat goatee foretells the rain.
Men drunk on anger oil their blood machines,
women ingest the pennies of their dreams,
and children with guns
dance howling on the entrails of their brothers.
At the Union Hall they're slurping poison soup.
The flesh rots from their faces. 'Who are you? '
they ask each others' mirrors.
Men scream at machines in isolation,
women can't catch their breath, and children with guns
take aim at the morning.
When the sun
When the sun clicks into place
and miraculous sparrows peck at icicles
and the children let the dew erase their slates
then the clocks will drain themselves of infection
and we will utter stones in the black light
and you will shelter my nakedness under the wings of your mouth
and the wind will be our water
and the sky will be our bread