at a glance

Child’s Play

will someone please replace the batteries in my
halo?
its fluorescent glow seems to have worn off-

its light no longer shelters the dark flower
that blossoms on the spleen; slow conclusive growth
whose leaves reach out for the heart and blankets it like
a thick, hot, green quilt. unfortunate union-

or machiavellian matrimony, they say,
that with the subtlety of words too brittle for
sunlight,
the herd is coaxed to bleat in unison;
manufactured thaumaturgy.

sad though, that a child’s disposition would
rattle earth and sky and force wisdom to
a muzzled jamboree. one,
where castratos mourn memories of imagined
inamoratas.

let shy ambers choke through the night,
as the world awakes to hell in the morn.

the halo burns bright again-
smile wide for the camera.