Three Poems

The End of History

The knife, worn, sharpened to a mercy,
Poised tight on the son's jugular,
The neck offered, right knee pushing
The boy's back, left hand cupping
The boy's eyes, pulling back
Against the knee braced in the
Boy's back. Eternity holds the pose.

Sun sliding down, time starts:
The father's eyes filling with salt
The boy pissing himself
The knife slipping
Slicing a shark red wake
To splash the naked rock.

Where is the Angel now?

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