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Torn From Facades
you gathered us all
recruited from beds and buses
extracted from stranded barges
torn from facades
pulled from the entrails of avenging owls
and the stinging wires of courtesy
 
if a heart were a hand
if we had any hands left, or hearts
we might not be so fearless, or lost
 
and in the court of your coronated gloom
we trade apostles for neglect
standards for certainty
breath for marble
and livid indecision for
the chill shimmer of abandoned eyes
 
if a heart were a hand
if we had any hands left, or hearts
we might not be so fearless, or lost
 
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