Santa Muerte has a wedding dress
& a (snap) bridle gift register she knows
what she wants. Paratroopers or dancers
move into hard light.
Be careful of what you ignite
– red candles
for the love we have fled, bone for peace
an explosive mix, we
wearing white & tattoos.
The new faith in town,
her shrine is like a clubbed club scene
in a low budget movie. But…wow…
guitar, tin cans
her gown wraps the slums & breeds up energy.
Our Lady of the Ambulance
dope & roses
rise, always rise
to the radiance of dismay.
Smiling we kneel by her & pick our ending, pick
your pockets she understands but
Buckle up the books,
nacreous tincture of moan her
nest is a compost of silver.
La Niña Blanca guards, then eats us.
We are handy, maybe
candy under brittle but regenerating teeth.