tip of the bomb



And the night feels better

on fire,

lending light

to frenzy.

And the edge of this orgy

glints like a blade

in its own yellow eye.

And the maw of this murder snarls

and spits

black nails

like the amen of a blasphemy.

And the hands of this betrayal

shake not one shudder but

stop -

stone still -

beneath the bright black

of Heaven.