Never a Smaller Fate

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Smoke hangs in the air
Stumble out of the car
Into a daydreamed western coast
A peach and orange glow far over homeless streets.
And kids circling radios
To hear the terrors of Hollywood homes
And parents in living rooms
With all Intentions of fear and television screens
And you can hear it
From the murmur of crowds gathered around store windows
Where newscasters announce the death of an actress
And the name of some cult
Plinths of tiny gods formed at the peaks of lightning rods
And as ethereal gold cracks the breeze
They’re drawing lightning from the street
Dickinson breathed life into scenes of poetry
A church burns
Hymns were sung
From a boy as he shoveled the dirt to bury his family
Swing low
I am a phantom in fractured prayers
For Heaven to burn
You hear my voice
There is no prayer for me
I sank my teeth into visions of star scapes
And flirted with holy arms
Only bellows remained
There were moments at your bedside that fractured time
The shards still keep
And painted palms of spectral skin keep that moment with me
“If God fell asleep is he dreaming up a better world?
Or is he dreaming of me?”
I can still taste the cold
The day that I drug your bones through a field of buttercup
There were less bastardized ways of tracing the road home
But still the grass grew tallest beneath the gallows
I can feel my heart slipping away
“A body was found.”
"Washed up along the shore this afternoon."
"Evidence of substances
And attempts on life.”
The sea had never felt a smaller fate

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