Poetry

Partly stripped, head shaven 
for a royal revelation of eternal scars. 
 
Blood oranges. 
You want to practice your knife 
on the boneless. 
 
No loaves left for the rainy day. 
 
Do you believe in after life? 
 
White pigeons convulsed 
on the hot, searing sands of 
the rebel stronghold. 
 
The politics works. Small breasts 
with no filling. A gender bias 
makes you fit for a Stark effect. 
 
I search the flesh, the eyes 
the wisdom.