On guilt
Hush, sand-lung devoured
Dark doorlight on these growing bones.
Her rotten soils flowered
In the firetaps of a hundred homes.
Scratching leaves of Hades
A mother wake as she sleeps
Bang of calling winter breeze
And skull, wailing, weeps.
Yet the care of sweet Persephone
Livens petal into bud.
Forgetful are flowers loved
That she forsake the plea.
In grander form the woundglow throbs
Sealed, golden napalm's artistry.
Yet wonder who we call our gods
The sweetmeat of Gaza street.
But there's the guilty purchased hearse!
Children lost to country lines
The Child lost to moving time
Steeped this blackened curse.
In sickness dawn is sour,
Life's sweetest leaving hour.
Skin's unravelling, another's observe,
Yet the clock heavy strikes the nerve.
To whom now do I serve?
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