Moving Statue

By | 1 July 2009

successful poetry
began
with the Star of David

his caricature stood
in the middle
of a fountainhead,
darting
between shadows
and flickers of saints,

stitching sinners
into dishonest possessions

Patches of light would
perambulate the fringes
of stealth and supposition

No one knows quite how many
bare-chested men
have been dismissed
in lieu
of pragmatic identification

They are there somewhere,
dancing among
short-term bravery,
casting
glances at sideways origin

mama wiped a clean gash
The faces
of her ghost-pale sons
idling between
bundles of frightened daughters

[snickering bookstore]

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