Lord, the source of Light,
I pray for Engineer today
I pray for her eyes to see
That the sea
Are still blue
But never her heart.
Maya says he’s a chirper at the cathedral
But eats a fellow man in shy slices
Like pies of rich worm-meat.
Bungol, all his adult life
He’s been drinking
Engineer of this poem, should you smile —
The poem, too, should.
The foundation: one firm dirt;
The stanzas: violent waves of an epicenter.
If a reader should see your poem’s face,
Be prepared for the reading of that smile.
The teeth should align and he should see