The old road to Ravenna
littered with broken Fiats
once glittered with tears of God
Children gather at the feet
of the Archbishop who tells them
to abjure life and welcome death
teeth clattering like dry bones
Beneath the bed-sheet
boar bristles score his skin
His face gives nothing away
he could be selling steak knives
Kids, as kids do, tire fast
and cry for their mothers but
the malls are open late tonight
even in Ravenna
The Archbishop ascends
steady as any moon
He fingers the neon afterglow
beyond the Traventine hills
Is it salvation or damnation?
Either, he devoutly prays, will do
...
Adding your comment:
