September Poem 16: Philip Morris

Hiking in the distance relaxed to the

Possibility of insight. He had

A young carpenter to eye his tears. Of

Biblical proportion, the red open

On the sermon he made. Of cowering

Partaking in the blood and saliva.

Any person light a butt of he who’s

Christian. Light a butt of any man with

Motives. Light a butt of Americans’

Fear behind assassination’s daughter.

Twisting fruit. The one shimmering in the

Winter. So you are just the dimly lit

Room yellowed. You would likely catch snaps of

Svengali. A figure. Quiet. Waking.

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