splinters of prayers


under fallen palm fronds the
night birds are quiet…

the others sleep by moon

light…that night 

…so…

splinters of prayers and

choruses of tombs

and nails and

crosses …are for

his ears

alone

and a million …

million nods here and 

over there … follow him as

he time travels…from 

church to 

church…where

women are stuffed 

into

floral dresses 

like

thanksgiving turkeys and…
he goes from street to

street as

gangstas signal

others to kill him…
there are

dogs in

pounds at Christmas and…
slaves forced to

make Easter baskets and …

egg cartons full of

little girls crying in

cages

where vileness slithers

like snakes in 

gardens…

…and…

darkness covers the 

face of the 

earth…so…

so…

…he
touches 

each face who 

hates him…caresses 

each hand 

who hits at him …. takes 

leashes handed 

to him by

slave whipped 

indifference …and even

while he weaves rainbows….

…prepares…

to

be 

blamed 

for

it 

all 

…so…

… he free

falls back 

into 

his own frame..,

watches 
night hawks

circle like

Easter songs

above his head and

once again walks through

gardens and

prays

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