A New Poem from a New Manuscript, SECRET WOUNDS

People. People who speed
steeple-chasing-awe’s celebrity
deserve the raw unblinking
maw of riches: enmity.

Despise who will
neglect to fill
the bellies of the dead.

Untrodden ground
the sacred sound
of angels who have bled

into the eye of mortal sky
the joker’s secret dread:
that none shall marry
who must tarry—
into the darkness fled.

Disaster’s bread
is missing now,
the bellies soon will burst.

Flourish flagrant
homespun vagrant
and thrice blest first cursed.

—Copyright © 2020 D. C. Weiser

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