Poetry

Siblings 
will take care of the morgue. 
I am going to hang my god 
today. Howling winds 
are crashing into my breath. 
 
 
In the sea 
of flags, the white death walks on 
naked bodies of faith. Innocence 
will take a back seat 
listening to the roaring assault 
of blues. 
 
Was it a hymn to drink 
the religion of rage? 
The men sitting in the glass vases 
worshiping the rising sun in awe 
with folded hands.