Tilt City
I can see Jesus trying
to reach the citizen
caught up in the riot
plumes of tear gas
whirling around, living grace
somebody spray-painting
a slogan across his scarred back
he's taken a rock to the head
rises to his feet again and again
staggers into rat-faced alley
to catch his precious breath
a red-eyed bum dabs the blood from
his beautiful lips.
Wading back into the ignited states of America.
Finally reaching the baton line
pinballed between chestnut colored riot horses
I lose sight of holiness.
Rubber bullets and flash bombs rattle
the soul of a city on
tilt.
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