by Glen Armstrong

 

They control the world but defer

to a light bulb’s parallel presence

 

as object and event.

 

Their hungry young become ceremonial

daggers when led into churches,

synagogues and mosques.

 

They would laugh at their own bodies.

They would make nervous

sounds full of lust

and uncertainty if they could

 

separate thinking from being.

 

They become invisible when they sleep,

but certain dreams

give them away.

 

They exist as links of chain,

as reminders of crumbling

cities and banishment.

 

I have heard they do the devil’s work,

but how could anything godless

 

possess such able

and delicate hands?