Monday, April 12, 2010

National Poetry Month, Day #13: Dive


I'm a regular
in some irregular places.

The places behind places.
You'd have to know where to look.

Old places, built with dark wood,
like a church.
Quenching the meek of the earth,
like anywhere else.

Singing hymns
and hers
of yesterday.
No saints in this stained glass.

Breadwinners breaking their bodies
to feast.
Blood poured as sacrilege,
and a sacrifice,
and never enough.

The smell of sawdust,
like a work in progress.
Poorly lit,
perfect for turning a blind eye,
or getting lashed by one.

You can't judge these places
from the outside.
You have to break the surface.

You have to dive.

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