The river flowed with blood and sparkling water,
side by side and travelling fast, unmixed.
On the far bank, lilies and pink petunias;
on mine, roses the size and hue of mothballs.
Hot here, cool showed off there. Grasses waist high
bobbed and rebounded under a light breeze.
There, a sign the Unforgiven could read:
IF YOU'D BEEN GOOD, YOU'D ALREADY BE HERE.
I read; like my compatriots, I laughed.
The dust administered a shock. I bled
and laughed no more. Heaven constructs its own
retaliatory tools. Nobody asked
me to repent, too late, too late. I tried
to break my fast, but could not prise apart
the breadfruit package issued me. When Might
combines with Milk, the bad, the weak, the blamed
had better fast. Unhoped. All Hell is still.
Nowhere, we are not going Anywhere.