It’s the prayers that turn in fury
the prism in your eye glancing away
air shatters in shards like marble stone
we gather together to warm the absence
It won’t get better and we know it

All the pots are steaming the forgotten
approaches tapping on glass windows
tossing in the tangle of dirty sheets
and you pacing barefoot on the plastic sea
quit your crying now our ears are numb
of sorrow flattened into photographs

You say innocence comes with a price
but my pockets are in debt to longings
the long stretch written in worn symbols
never open their mouths for definition
but who is bothered by the snap
of fractured bones in the smokey fray

It doesn’t really matter at 4am when
the streets resign their heaving
dreams, incongruent twisted fragments
run amuck into the vacancy of embrace
hush now, hear the quiet of songs sung
through the blood stream burning reason
leave flowers on the doorstep, but don’t knock