Charlottesville, 8/12/2017

In the early moments,
we didn’t know who it was
behind the wheel
or who it was
that was dead.

So, for a half-hour,
it was just a death.

Unaffiliated.

And it didn’t matter whose
it was.

And then I watched the video.


And then it mattered.

Maggots boil from under her skin.
  I will never see her again.
I have heart aches that
  stem from mistakes.
I count them as they
  leak from her skin.

Her eyes are raisins;
  I will never find what
they last captured.
  Cheekbones higher than
my song. My finger brushed
  along all that was black
and seeped into her back,
  tripping on her vertebrae
like a boy frolicking home.

  The cacti stand still--
while I feel quite ill--
  standing in an ocean
of honey.

  The people stand still--
America is ill--
  standing in an ocean
of money.

  You stand still,
too afraid to ****
  an ocean of hate
you tolerate.

Perched on the wall, the Raven scrutinised the fields that stretched for miles
Studying the crows as they gathered together by the clump of berry bushes
Its gimlet eyes concentrated, waiting to strike.
Searching for weaknesses amongst its minions, a black-shirt, a minor deity made for death,
Skull’s head, ****, the demon of the dull cloud-dark skies.
An omen heralding star-snuffed, moon-ruined night.