a blasphemer for joy

a blasphemer for joy

those with  black hearts

contemplate the sparrow

that winter tears apart

from hunger was born virtues

look to the wrong road

possessed by a stallion

that’s never known a load

the poem is a secret

any time it may speak

not a branch for the fire

even though it grows weak

a strategy for the raging

till the veins  all have spilled

on the baptized rituals

electrified or killed

a percent of the hand

leaves not empty the fist

a speechless waterfall

remains without mist

the cyclone is empty

of angels and things

the sky has faded

on the blackbird’s wings

a blazed conclusion

to a psycho’s dreams

may drift like smoke

or so it seems


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