Her Feet Have Flowers

Oh holy father
Her feet have flowers
flour for the masses
Ink for the solemn

Her hands have flowers
And I do too
membranes on top of membranes
Walls on top of walls
Littered with crawlers and graffiti

The sky rises as the sea
Why can’t you see
Her feet have flowers
And I do two
three
turns of the trade
the third singles me out as a servant
the third singles me as a martyr
the third was always the first
the single turn
turns around
And douses in gold
the flower of the valley

Her hands hold flowers
And I do too
Light and airy
And full of empty weight

Oh holy father
My sins have daughters
Taught to be taunt to the waves of the world