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We are stretched men,
Hung by hairs breadths
And nothing more
He tells me they
Took her apart
And he’s spitting distance
From dying hisself.
It is,
In the end
Our failures that
Champion us
And we find ourselves
Accidentally hallowed
Our old solace
Rigorously wintered
It is our unhappiness that
Forgives us
Cracked Saints,
Drunk on denial.
…
A woman died
That day
There were others
Took to their poses,
Performed mangled stations
And blame has nothing
To drink
Crawls shrinking and salted
From mouthing wrecks.
But brothers died too,
There was family
The factored dead
My mother did Mass for
Is it my fault I can’t
Make the equation balance?
Is it my fault I can’t
Unify fields?
And them fuckers
Fork fun at us,
Laughing
We’re diligently joked,
Unkindly
Spat on for spurious
Negated, re-
childrened.
…
A woman died
That day
There were others
A woman was winnowed
Chaff on black air.
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The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.
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Saint Steven’s
