Birthmarks stamped on paving stones,

Sirens pound the corpse’s heart,

 

Bony,

Extenuated, they

Spread their palms,

 

Our eyes in shame,

Pockets lighter,

But minds at rest,

Spitting alms.

 

The cadaver is ripe

Marinating,

Now sell to it the mausoleum of all hope and desire.

 

Providing the rope

For them to hang themselves,

While leaping for a taste of the dangling carrot.

The noose tightens;

Toes wriggle,

Lights turned off.

 

The guillotine is traced with sugar,

 

The executioners

Beneath the pall of our chapels.

Congregations flood to

Cleansing houses, congratulating each other:

“The market has won. We have sold the dream”

 

As some others of purple blood

Gather their numbers

To condemn creeping death.

 

Promising that beneath the tiles lays the beach–

Eager to kiss their feet.

 

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Charity

  1. Sometimes, nothing is as it seems…not all sweet things are good, not all that is bitter is bad. But we want only the sweet…and pursue it till we drop in the pit

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s