The Thieves

The children, Thick and plush upon the rug, Sat meaningful As they listened With weathered ears. Tiny Jennifer is seen Below a crook in the credenza, Fingering the supple threads Of her mothers Laced persona. Good night my sweet prince, Her smile says As the thieves perch In their thickets even as we speak. Swallowing deep In the depths of their acquittal And drunk with Alternated breaths And visions. And I, I watched with a crooked grin And isolated rubbernecking And three cheers for the end of innocence. A tropical fire alit in my mind. And I, I sat among Their crystallized eyes and wept With petty mass destruction, Heating with a passion That burns beyond my silent tongue.