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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