Poetry

Sundown, the masks
come out and a game of
perfidy begins.

Words disappear. A
long pause. You will kill two
birds with one stone.
You and ultimate.

No threats. Only the
heat and flames of summer.
In a dark cave, the icicles
form a white deity.

The religion of the body
and flesh, has no god,
no prayer.

The candle burns―
without a wick, melts
into a blue lake.