Beatrice

Ah! The soothing
of that whispered name-
inaudible, nearly...
yet shrouded in familiarity-
fanning the child-heart.

Yes, the wooing
of that angelic flame-
deliver us, swiftly
from this the darkest night
swaddled in your crimson cloth.

Coursing

Brooch pins for my eyes
bury the cold black hole sun
blind Justice and I
have heard quite enough
and the prophesies cannot
be undone.

“While the widows
go on weeping
wearing ashes
and gnashing
their teeth
the Parties
will prey
on the young.”

They are staying,
they are coursing
the dogs of war unleashed.
She is dwindling
she is dwarfing
Our Lady, art thou impeached?

Phoenix Again