without a pot to piss in a rifle fires a caw of crows on cardboard

on tents white wax burns the fingers god spits the residue the air

shatters prayers candles made of glass moths bite to chase starlight

casualties grow the rack holes of winter sweaters bark beetles eat

the wooden floors backlogged services old brochures for caskets

the mortuary is full a child is forced to hug hang barbwire another

crunches on pixels of affection a band of copper horses trots down

a polluted trail of power the clack of their steel hooves cracks con-

crete silver dollars remain interrogated boxes of matches are nestled

in between suit pockets a woman stands over her daughter a hammer

in one hand another in justice there is nothing sensory to experience

only the frigidity of a mind turned off no peace pour the wax to keep

the wick the chapped lips the stomach growls the light dims again

and again the girl is now grown her face fades as organs submerge

organs in custody organs sold look half a note remains in the trenches

some caught in the wind air bubbles of opulence herds remain giddy

on land no calls no visitors no food allowed but a cage for freedom

beatings to pillage break a heartbeat make a monster leave a life-

time in a locked chest you can only breathe underwater for so long

Thea Matthews is a poet of African and Indigenous Mexican descent, originally from San Francisco. Her debut collection, Unearth [The Flowers], was published by Red Light Lit Press and was named one of Kirkus Reviews’ Best Indie Poetry Books of 2020. Her newest collection, GRIME: City Lights Spotlight No. 25, will be published by City Lights Books in September.