Anathema

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Anathema can stalk
anyone, anywhere
like rhetoric, or marketing

it will find them

and use them

like a paycheck

~~~

For three days and nights
it’s been raining humans:

humans falling from heaven,
humans drowning in their own
human-made puddles,
humans choking
on unshared wishbones.

(Humans with frightened, bulged
out eyes, silently screaming
sclerosis, sclerosis)

Anathema catches these humans
by the tongue, one by one,
as they fall like tears from heaven.

Anathema spits these humans into a bag
– a messenger bag made of Chinese linen,
so, the humans can breathe in this hot fall weather –
throws the bag upon a broad shoulder
and walks across the bridge to Anathema’s tower
where Anathema takes each of them out,
one by one, holds each
in the palm of Anathema’s hand
and studies their movable limbs;
very doll like, very simple.

Anathema lingers in the moment because
Daddy never let Anathema play with dolls.
(Daddy never let Anathema play with dolls.)
(Daddy never let Anathema play with dolls.) but
daddy’s gone now,

Anathema can play with them all.

Anathema gets a magnifying glass
out of a detective kit purchased from Boys R Us
and thinks about taking the dolls to the rooftop,
you know, to do the old ant under the magnifying glass trick?
That was always fun to do on hot days like this one.

But then something happens
when Anathema hovers the glass over them,
Anathema notices complexity in their eyes:

(Humans with frightened, bulged
out eyes, silently screaming
sclerosis, sclerosis)

Anathema notices the bloodshot
of their eyes
and how the vascular pathways
spread throughout the whites
like a complex network of routes
on a map
and Anathema begins to believe

that Anathema has found the map to
Anathemas hidden treasure.

A Dog’s Optimism

My dog chases a ball
to give him a reason to run;

I chase meaning
because it gives me a reason.

He also likes to bury his bones in the backyard
to hide them from other dogs.

I flaunt mine; it’s my only risky behavior,

other than that,
I’m just a steady grave covered in daisies.

We all do what we can to want to survive;

for my dog,
it’s all about performing that perfect high five.

Peace

I choose peace
by choosing compassion
for every madman, criminal,
and Kardashian.

Because
nobody should ever be considered
fair game.

And I have disposed
of my “us versus them,”
tossed it down like a vial of bad sin
losing everything I ever wanted to blame.

Because
ballots are bullets
and bullets are ballots
anybody could be considered
fair game.