A Ride With Milton and Jonson
(Previous version appears in Halo)
Driving in the dark between the two
crusted scabs, wounded and shaped to fit
humanity going forward all stiff and wooden.
My fingers crack like twigs to wrap around
the wheel.
In this place where black tongues cut
through Paradise, headlights don't enlighten
As Eve's fruit. They only catch crystal
shards of water, frozen breathe of God.
Pleasure buried virtue in Eden's graveyard.
No reconciliation between them,
There was no eulogy given, no mourners
on a black parade. Only a question posed
to Heaven of "Who will bring them back?"
The heat of the engine blows warm
air on these fingers, and coffee spills into me…
Warming me to the pleasure of sins.
