I wrote this a couple of days ago at my apartment in Brooklyn.

The books
are no longer held
with staples or tape.

Gospel today

fills the soul
like glue

from a Wonder Bread bag.

Like the photography of some vital

motif.

A passing of traitor -

disappearing the early morning

dew.

The gelatin silver print blisters
with foresight.

A reflex assumption.

One perilous lineage

hooked by clairvoyant creations-
only to defecate the denial of truth:

The dying beast is your child,
your demon,
 your God.

If your interested to read more check out my poetry Blog:

http://lickingjunglecatclaws.blogspot.com/