For Nine Days Does the Anvil Fall: Nine

Nuts like dried apricots drop,
bombshell blond(e)s with flaming balls
fatally flawed, revolting
bolts of cocksure revolvers

pulled up knuckle clouds of god
awful and loud, thunder stops
hearts with its pulse, clap stalled eighths
of swinging applause solvers

of problems pause to workshop,
illusions of solutions,
this apocalypse gives talk
no creedance, tongues molten

          from having bitten its hot
          gospel hard open, pull strings


not speaking seems to cool off
until lips fall apart, darts
among daggers teeth rot, sting
these throats of adulterers,

manuscripts rubricators
fail to make better with soft
brushes, letters bitter men
crimson scarlet absolve for

naught sin’s illuminated
gossamer haunting its lot,
fated to spell by inkblot
example how hell feels, rings

          as does every bell brought
          to chapel, deep foreboding.