Accusations fly

Budged an inch

But arms open wide

Take them all in

like  a sacrificial cloak

of feathery arrows

sprouting blood

from the ribs

 

Accusations fly

And I’ll fly with them

It exceeds that Icarus mark,

beyond  the astral bodies,

beyond reason

and doubt.

 

That god forsaken torch

is out there

The evidence comes late at night

Through the skirmish of  bank withdrawals

Traffic jams, policemen and their bootstraps

Romani  mother streetwalking in the rain

like John Wayne on The Searchers

 

 

Skinny rebel at the bus stop

With junk up his arm

holding  bags of putrefied groceries

waiting for the purge

 

Hands with perfect polished nails

Stamping  the fuck out of our lives

On endless queues

and never ending diatribes

 

Accusations fly

and the stings keep coming

The fists are shut

and eager to flip the bird

and smile

 

That  god forsaken torch

Is ready to be plundered

to be blown away by a single breath

Like the cry of a new born

And the vibrant hum of a mothers breast

 

Porto | MMXV