Poetry

A moon interrupted; 
riles the social class. 
A native sense comes of age. 
 
Piercing stare becomes rarefied, 
unbuttons the peaks and 
kills you with a mallet. 
 
The scared mask falls 
off the divine embrace, lets 
free the pigeons from the golden cage. 
 
The forked tongue will 
speak only truth. Blood 
was the only stain, washed easily. 
 
I will get the tan 
in moonlight only. My scars 
will remain invisible in silver.