the beekeeper.

ruins ii.

with each crack in the wall,
there was a new column built.
with each chip in a vase,
there was a masterpiece painted.
they were slowly fixing me,
even as parts were still breaking.

but they took a coffee break that lasted eons,
and my cathedral was shut down to the public.
my holy space is disintegrating,
and the construction workers i used to call my friends are doing nothing to save it.

jesus is weeping sawdust in the front of my skull.
the holy water flows from my eyelids.
a kid with a fatal lung disease throws rocks at my stained glass windows,
and they shatter in each temple.
a demon plays the organ in my left lung.

"closed for renovation" they said.
what kind of renovation is this?
breaking the beauty,
breaking the sweetness,
breaking the holy parts and replacing them with lice-infested children
and emaciated horses,
what kind of upgrade could this be?

dogs gnaw on my cousin's bones in the confession stand;
preachers scream "they abandoned you, fucker!";
rats eat away at my spinal cord;
this is not renovation.
this is vandalization of my brain.
this is mass genocide of happiness and hope,
and i am ruined.

they've left my cathedral to rot in hell
where irony best plays the fiddle.
i guess i'll get used to the heat.
just like the soul of the south.
just like summer in arkansas.