Would that I had been suckled by wolves
in the kind of world where we belong
paths pounded through soil and forest
repeating the same simple steps
the sun also rises

As kisses go, I will not forget that one
how extraordinarily dangerous love is
a soft wind whispers sweet nothings
down the corridors of the prison that I return to
my heart paraphrases: I changed everything
for you

The faith we have
this is what church is supposed to be
begging the question of the chicken and the egg
you found God; I saw people sleeping under bridge abutments
and the prison where inmates had stood in the rising water for days
a human voice cut off in mid-sentence
one can get aroused by such prayer leaders

We entered the rebel zone
would that I could defy them all
I’m just looking out my window
emerging from the social fabric
nothing heard but the sound of the chickens coming home
to roost

Make checks payable to salvation
Superman was a little boy
his blood was bright scarlet
if the child saw rightly
heaven should be at least an echo chamber

Trapped in the driver’s seat
struggling in my cage
I blame my parents, which is trite but traditional
I struggled to keep up with the haze
what’s left over after I subtract the fact that my arm goes up
from the fact that I raise my arm?
I am delivered from Plato’s cave

Whatever song the sirens sang
six years after stepping onto the troubled shore
they do not live in the fear of oppression and violence
eating Superman’s heart, sold for eight dollars a ton
researchers will not be awarded a Nobel prize if Earth is consumed
endless reasons to die, an irrelevant story

His smiles and good manners
are a mask to cover his brutal and vicious goal of your destruction
a ruthlessness gene
who can blame these men, motionless in a row?
it is not difficult to kill a baby
blood all over the ground
theoretically proven Russian roulette
keep your mouth shut and look contrite

We are to learn from one another and tell our stories
the echoed communication
behind the eyes that are reading these words
I was just feeling empty, helpless and missing
lying amid the scrub

Would it be fair to say
we can’t tickle ourselves
it is neither nature nor nurture
when we do take a stand
gathered around the victims
it is beautiful