By Barbara Marie Minney
Stare vacantly open-mouthed with blood-stained eyes
at an empty barren page forged cross
let go of nothing even lying
your way out of a paddling in sixth grade
sitting in a haze of humiliation from your girlfriend’s betrayal
perfectionism reeks of death
massacring words burying them deep in unmarked graves
satisfying something that can’t be satisfied
paintings in smoky vases hang upside down on the wall
downhearted clouds blackened stars
dead air shrugging in silence trees turning their backs in disgust
what we don’t believe can still hurt us
old churches exist on tears stale bread and wine
alien to everyone but outlaw poets
Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani muse howl
a muted moon holds its breath
as the devil is nailed to that cross