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.
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