Come, pray with me, brother;
Hold my hand, sit in our circle –
Or stand over our black bodies
As you pour bullets into them
Like jagged hail falling from
Night clouds. I guess you are
The moon: from your apex
Bullets cloak our corpses and
Close our eyes so that we
See you briefly, then never.
We lay here, barely breathing
(blood seething, heaving, leaving)
Like inhaling heavy helium until
My lips part like entry and say,
"Take this body, brother: I will not
Need it." Look into the holes of
My flesh, hear the whisper coming
To you, saying come in, come in
And see my soul.
But I feel your fears. You are afraid
Of the all-engulfing blackness, so
You are surprised as our souls
Crawl from the cavities like
Phenomenal phantoms, spread
Their feathered limbs, take flight
And break through the roof
Of this church until we reach
Such soaring heights that
The sun cannot melt these wings.
Isn't it strange how things change
Like this – ebony bodies, ivory wings,
Thick skin indifferent to ammunition,
Letting it all in, entering our church
Doors with your crooked gait from
Carrying the weight of sin? Dylann,
Our fallen angel, you don't have to
Cry for us. God has already shed
His tears to cleanse the wounds
We no longer own, but the one's
That you still keep: all is forgiven
In the end.
