I've got a flower up my
sleeve,
hidden like a face
card

It is blooming
up
into my hands;

Pink and yellow petals
assume the fragrant
form
of a crude, offensive
gesture

And a grin of unrepentant malice
spreads like a soft,
rude flower,
or
the bird across my face

The sentiments contained within
the petals of both
the gesture and
the smile
are too base for spoken
language;

Bees do not collect
the deadly
honey

The honey is a street drug
of pure, compacted
diamond

Loathing,
and if the bees land on my
hands,

They die.

I will never squander my faith on them again

                       *          *          *

The soul of a man is a storm cloud full of
lightning,

His heart,
a bloodstained lightning rod

He isn't grounded

Clouds of blood and fire
float above his
soul
and electro-cute his mind

He sleeps inside a tornado,

Waiting for a trailer park
to uproot like a field
of carrots,
and throw against the
wall

          *          *          *

A girl is a trailer park
that wants a firm
foundation

She is tired of the storm

Her
walls are reinforced

She doesn't believe in the storm
anymore

Faith in the storm has proven
to be wasted

          *          *          *

The storm arrives,
and monsters
fly

Roosters scream into
the henhouse

Flowers bloom in the sky like fireworks

Sparks are crawling down
the trackmarked arms
of Orion, spiders

Dancing in the sky

          *          *          *

If the cloud of
blood and
fire
is right for the
trailer,
he will only
tear her roof off,
and hurl it in
to the sea

Is she still standing there?

Rooted to the ground
like a mobile home
of gold?

I must assail the walls
to test their
firmness

Has her heart been reinforced
with rebar?

I like her

She is cute, but will
she shock
me?

I am a symphony of foghorns

I need some naturalistic
grounding

Will I ever strike
gold
inside the lightning mine,
floating

Like a stormcloud
overhead?

I left my shofar in the car

Shall I play a solo on the judgment flute?

My trailer park is beautiful

Her smile is electro-cute

          *          *          *

Your faith is the prize

Everybody wants it, from the
electro-
cuties to the duty-
free
politicians,

Pockets lined with playing cards

Pointless, flailing gestures

          *          *          *

Are we flatlining,
or
silver lining?

I think we may be breadlining;

Our clouds are tied to the ground
with breadlines,
a noose
of starving rope

I have a pillow stuffed with fire

There are so many broken necks to feed

I am tangled in the rigging

Of a democratic

Spiderweb

          *          *          *

Your faith is the prize

They can't steal it from you
if you don't give it
to them

They can take your heart,
your mind, your
soul

Your money, and your
family,

But they can't take your faith

You have to give it to them

          *          *          *

No matter what happens, no
matter what they do,

Never give them your faith

Never allow yourself to believe in them

If you believe in them,
you're doomed