In the morning when grey white skies wake up early
and Dante's Divine Comedy stops the traffic in my head,
that's when my hand speeds over paper, my fingers cold with inspiration.
It's a never-ending tale in literature,
hidden in attics under Adam's roof.
Dances with snakes, tripping over apples underfoot.
It's just a short fall to Europe and Asia, and their Eden-
Tanks, metal, and computers, all that twisted imaginary faith.
Ash dirties the bare feet missing their golden sandals from above.
Orchards melting in acidic screams, Eve is crying in guilt-
fur coats and ball point pens.
Millions molest the cover of this edition,
licking the ends of the pages, smelling the text.
Prayer in schools.
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