AFTER BEI DAO / AFTER JEAN VALENTINE

The skin of your deity smells like gasoline

Your prayers are added to the pyre  

A gold wheel spinning  

Once your voice broke out in a sweat   

Each word a salt lick  

There are fingers rooting inside a violin  

Orchestral maneuvers  

In the middle of the pandemic  

You mistook a group of ghosts for an orchard  

You, coward  

Fingers are rooting inside a violin to pull out  

The last scraps of birdsong  

A gold wheel spinning in your mind 

Like insomnia