Reformation. By cas.



If I wrote 95 poems of faith
and nailed them, unsigned,
to your kitchen door
in the middle of the night
would you know right away
that I wrote them and
that they were about you?


Or would you burn them all in cold fear
and never sleep soundly again
wondering if the 459 year-old mad ghost
of Martin Luther was stalking
the streets of your America,
the pockets of his flowing robes
full of poems and nails?






* * * * *

More poetry from Winamop

Copyright reserved. Please do not reproduce without consent.