Blood of Innocents

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Blood of Innocents
 
Soldiers slice tits
            at Pharaoh’s fierce carnival
in Notre Dame.
A mother claims to hold her own.
 
It's false to feel in any time,
            place or station here on
Earth, you cannot do certain crimes.
            You can. Oh yes, you can.
 
Pharaoh’s red rage confines him
in a submarine under attack.
Crazed talon-hands
            reach for air and break
                        windows, tear breasts.
The assassin father reaches for his innocent.
 
Outside, Parisian families moved
like mobile crèches from one
Christmas display to the next
 
In dreams
She comes.
"In Hell with you,
and our angel again," I say.
 
She walks away.
 
Nothing to it:
one walks his day alone.
My wife
            my son
                        my bed
go on bringing another man home.
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