Rainy, the footfall descended as
wet wind dropped into some
long ago fallen place. The man
with no home pent in between
two church pillars set as if men
and women and children could
only pass to heaven erect and
proud. How does one rise? One
hand pressed against a face and
another on a shopping bag, the fire
soaked swords of cherubim blazed,
and all that was set in shade was
right, and which with light shimmered
was erred, and only victims had
rights, only they’re foot printed
face could pull up towards heaven
to ascent unconquerable gates.


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