How to Refuse Capitulation
Before you raise your hands
or kneel before an omnipresent
god over the surface of a cold
floor, a fluorescent reflection will
arise as a ghost beyond the
periphery. As chasms of mist grow
into a blessed matter of stillness
walk around the expanse of light.
A thousand people hum into
quiet space. Sky unmoors as a harness
in the shape of clay.
[Prayer: I see a lamb being slaughtered, hung
over a shop of electric blue lights. Blood on
its limbs, head thrown in the street.
All I know of grace is a different hue.
A cobblestone with stains of blood. The wind
carries a ghost. Godhead. An exponential tangle
of leftover bones the teeth cannot chew.
A restless matchstick over the eye of
a falconer. A flock of moths by the lamplight
of an empty porch where no one lurks.
Phonemes of similar symmetries in the
silence. Listen: the myths we lodge in our midriffsare an inheritance of bloodline choruses.
Bones calcify into lines, vanish into flesh.
Land will keep you until it kills you with
an ignition mercy of an entity it replaces.]
Until you rise in the hallway beacon
ignite your chest. Crack open the duendes
of ghosts in your body.about the author