by: John Grey

The body is dangerous.
The body falls on
women and children
like bombs.
The body infects.
The body talks
with thin lips
on the benefit
of its fertilizers,
of its construction materials.
The body is the champion
of skin deep religions.
The body lies
through its teeth.
The body says it
is the true martyr,
not God.
The body films
its acts,
spools them for
the backroom boys.
The body has a head for figures
but not the heart to match.

The body is a traitor,
a dark thunderstorm,
spokesman for the void,
a cannibal for the blood,
gets its kicks out of
the cruelest count-downs.
The body is there
at your bedside,
proclaiming its innocence
right to the end.
The body is
the last voice
you hear
right before
the room explodes.