Jun 26
Some Shores
ex-patriot
I bet when he saw the land
the burning brindles of dawn
the way the land squeezed
and coughed
and the lake tossed forward
where brown corroded foam
and the stench of working light
men drowned on evening squares
plundered the view
of real god
that left idealogy
came back furious
that the land he wanted
toned with the axe handle
that god left to sinners merchant
the ivy of growth on tendril
that stone could cry the area
& the sound it fumed could only glory
the caretaker of men
that bosom waxed suckle that the bumpy figs
gummed mammon a warlock stare
