Akira

Like tangled ribbons in trees, dizzy against the somber world’s
Still life, they were always too random and
Suddenly there

They were never sane, never normal, although silent
A monster said they put him or her in the center of Lucifer’s mouth                                                                                                                                             5
And all the little children of Dis. But to the commoner
They were like Akira, the Gold Lion and bitter
Like a russet wine of corpses, or forbidden fruit, or
A spiked net over a blood sea

No, no, sang the innocent. They’re a lifeless culture of sinners.                                                                                                                                                10
They are the lost.

They were once clean. They were once pure. They
were the children of the Golden Errors