we shall see great things from such low heights

we scoop ashes into our dust-born throats,

burnt fingers blackened by sin.

remember those we once were

in battle? struck down by friendly fire:

join us in praying for

__________________ we have lost!

forgive me father,

for I curse

too often,

love too little,

kiss too hard;

I feed on the ghosts of past saints while

fire flickers faintly on my forehead—

(“there are no halos left;

            we sold out last Tuesday")

I am drunk on words of promise:

please say them slowly—

I want to eat it sweet off your lips,

my world reels in

cacophonies of hope,

in bright glitter clutches.

puke up your insides,

tell them you belong. 

horizon lines escape me,

but not before I clutch at their petticoats,

trail into unknown deserts--

we shall see great things from such low heights. 

rejoice!

for I bring you good news

(no shit):

the cynicism shall eat your heart out

while you bleed your soul
onto the hood of a 98’ Eldorado

in some suburban neighborhood

west of Chicago.  

go in peace,

my child.