Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Lilith Conjunct

The women were mean, despairingly crying, as they clung
          to the coffin for a body light as air.

Dogs lapped their tears like they were anti-freeze
          and cowered under abject slaps transferred.  

The phones lit up with vitriol, in hopes the clouds would stay,
         the spell could not be broken today like bread

As if they could be fed. For it was not, to them, love,
         something that fell within their purview,

It was other, it was hate, it was worthy of the raw
         discontent they'd tried with parasols to hide

For millennia it seemed: their papery smiles
         betrayed a fear that all was as it appeared,

That the man had no redeeming acts, the earth
         no cause for grace, no heaven save the rending,

Where all that lived must die, the easier to sweep away;
        creation's in the clean-up, that same old tell-tale story

As the one that murderers say, at bedtime to their grandkids
        when they stamp a kiss of dreams on warm foreheads.

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