Money Buys You Freedom
The innocent sit cross-legged in their incubators.
The glass of justice has shattered,
and their laundered attorneys have vanished.
It is not fate they were dealt – was it bad luck?
Only Satan could navigate these waters elegantly.
For there is no alcohol for their indigo bruises
and no bridge to cover their worries
and all they smell are blood and sweat.
The guilty drink vodka and discuss politics.
They are free to break the frontiers
and ride their horses till dusk.
They walk the street under the lamp
because they’ve hit the lotto,
both literally and under a deity’s eye.
Watch out pedestrian, and get into a foxhole,
that criminal is about to bomb his ball and chain.
Visible to the Eye
I was spied quickly and swept up in the wind
and split before I could grasp my bearings.
My affections cheaply paid for by an assassin.
Some assembly was required to make me believe
I had become an entire woman,
but I had come to realize I was a wind-up doll,
just running on the oil of someone else’s wish.
All I had longed for was candied-heart attention,
a doodad hoped for since adolescence.
And here I am, wiser now,
but still ready to call them a list of rapists.
The phone is muted,
and ready to take a permanent leave of absence.
Searchlight
Do not shine the light upon my ship.
It is merely wandering on my green seas,
undiscovered.
I am a few petals short of a rose,
though a seed has been embedded.
I partner with the same fish,
the searchlight now upon my secret:
I am an Electra of sorts,
playing a bow against her ribs,
singing out for her father
and until that time,
accepting any substitution,
as if he will appear before the rapture,
O, Holy Father.