Balancing Art
http://feedthefish.us/poetry/2015/11/23/balancing-art/
In mass,
I cover my ears,
lick the pew,
and let
the words
of my mother
interject
against a
sexual craving;
So hopelessly founded
on nothing other
than black
death tobacco wounds;
And free from
a violin's last
purchase upon
the theory
of physics'
gratuitous
violence;
I hate
to go up in
flames
just as
the night's
spiral of
welcoming
invades my
territories.