glahn

here is my broken stock ticker
cutting children in
some irresistible dark corner

done wandered away
from the foil-edged
magnets framed
on the radiator

i swore i smelt
excellence burning
when the dimmer months
the lower months rolled around

the church floor colder
the rosaries stolen
broken apart and thrown
in the alleyway
with the hopes of confounding
the urgent meters and filings
of bold city birds

"they look so hungry"

and they might swallow
pier-toy-plastic
red "hail marys"
the enviable black "our fathers"

but no, they're assaulting
the takeaway steamed
buns tossed in the
Vegetable Trough
down Gray Avenue