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Collect, Compose

from Among The Ruins, Rejoice by Love And Squalor

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Is this Jerusalem?
I wince, sigh, and chew my bottom lip,
As though a sneer could uproot anything.
As though I have a moment to ponder the meaning
Of the childish prayers I learned by heart
That seemed to have lost their rhythm
In the face of a sea that stubbornly fails to part.
Feeings of scorn, a goal half-remembered, frustratingly remote.
These flowers at my throat? Out! down! break, damn you!
Is this Jerusalem?
So while one hand gropes for coins in the dust,
The other hallelujahs.
Just imagine yourself a victim: Play virgin, play lamb.
I do not know what I should think. Best not to be at fault.
Scratch up change enough to pay for a drink.
Is this Jerusalem?
So seek out the dark, the raucous, the safe anonymity,
Seclusion in the bodies, sweat, smoke, cacophony.
New prophecies in half-light, new promises in glass.
A found faith in the chatter, the morning is dismissed.
New memories in blackout. I think nothing. Something found
In the poetry of prophets waiting in line to piss.

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from Among The Ruins, Rejoice, released September 22, 2013

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