just wait, your time will come. your guns laid down and your hands broken like wisps of thoughts, leaving you as you were before given your skin woven from the millions of martyrs that shed no tears.

repeat

of irony, in bitter juice.
there were children here.
of better lace and bloodied place.

of grave concern, this unfit state, this base thought and unclean skin; will i be blessed betwixt the mold and bone, denyed not the weather bitten limbs?

when we were young and held up in the air with gossamer strings of mirth and grace.

when will there be mercy from the long and punishing arms of religion?

for it would be the same to hold you in my veins until the pain of gravity dissipates to leave you free into the milky white skin of the mothers arms to start again start again start again.

this up and coming youngster looks in my swollen eye for 1.3 seconds and spits out some name of no intelligence nonsense, says i've pterygium and dances away in his frippery white frock, then they have taken my money and i am wandering about thinking on losing sight and stepping into endless night but mostly how it would feel to puncture the orb and erase the memory of all the things i should not have seen while learning how to fly.