the purity of waking

 
her thoughts lie
there
like diseased
shattered
shimmering
glass on the
wet floor of
this moment

time recedes

nothing there

monkey sounds
fill the air

be my discount
love sold by whip
invitation in the
outdoor markets
of Morocco

be my tribal ritual
eaten by the spears
of cruel moonbeams

be my day after
tomorrow that
never arrives

ghost wait on
my front
porch

I will go home
now
and burn the
scarecrow

maybe God will
forgive
me