Her Nickname Is Messiah

Wandering to my morning classes, I wonder if my ruins would look
different than they would have yesterday. Is this fair? I think to
myself and the sun blazed ground–around here nothing you love comes
back. Back to back to wall–too close to call you friend too bashful
to call you lover. That is this. I’ve had this much. It is two
o’clock and I think it is a sunday. I tell the animal to calm down
that is outside my window. She doesn’t say much but when she does I
write it down. Her nickname is messiah. A goddess gift from a cloud
filled with her own reign she lit her own throne on fire–and walked
away nameless. Refusing that she was related to anything but God.
That spirit. That factor. She folds her arms into themselves and
sleeps.