gods wait on corners

I stand on this corner stringing words together
remembering how they can sound, written and read
reading Audre Lorde

The thick thump of heavy death repeated itself around the corner,
peeking i am perfectly planted to own witness and credit for a grand endeavor,
a striving force completing the wilt and fray of a fire extinguished.

he kicked her stomach, boot to spine till the air came in, eyes glaze and out no more.
still, soft and dead she laid in her own sort of cocktail made of her insides out

when you folded your long narrow body, eight arms and multi purpose intent into a pose of crouch,
in between sirens and the shrieks you could hear the sound of her blood dripping out of her, off her clothes and into the beautiful puddle on the rocky pavement below,
like art she was creating again, regardless of death here she laid, despite herself,
feeding us this hideous, inspiring blood art.

all movement slowed into deep motion, intent,
carrying a purpose to empty,
the blood was the only event, the only importance to consider,
with it i spilled out of myself and into her and the dread, horror and tragedy made a clicking sound of perfection.

nestled close filling her with me, this was my perfect example to give to the history being created that perfect isn't fair and fair is irrelevant.