Sisters in the Fog

The rewards of love
are multifaced. They'll change
you are changed and worn and real.
So the spikes of sun wont kill you
if you're wrong, grow old in the ease
of your brother's blood, and be plain dumb niggers
with the only quality truly transferable among humans,
stupidity. There are fights in the streets with the cops
and a brother is wounded and jailed. His wife screams curses
at life, the time, the motion, god, all beauty, and her wounded
self. Would that that self would disappear and she grow more beautiful
than the fake virgin of the christians, Mary Marvel, whose antics invented
cuckoldry as hip in the sacred texts of the beasts. Would that we would
all become what the dream of reality insists we can become.