Butte and Our Lady

We have lost the look of angel’s eyes
and wear the hunched mask that smiles
not our smiles and not God’s.
A cross-man hangs from the rear view,

where a grim grin neglects to see Gone Mountain,
or the silence of geese above the Silver Bow,
or the last old lunger dragging his air along Harrison.
We made this, Our Lady of the Acid Lake,

and raised her up to assuage the hurt hunch
that our undoing cannot be undone.
Her white eyes see nothing but tipple
spoil–
our
bequeast to speck angel’s eyes.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s