Bow and Arrow

by Angelica Toumbas


He stood by the steps
repeating the crumpled words
pacing furiously
with midnight rage
“I’ve been sucker punched by God.
What does that make me?”
And Edison kept singing
iridescent and oblivious
melodies and motifs
And the boys with the worn hats
continued to chant
something that made me think
of buying them a moral compass
“I’ve been sucker punched by God.
What does that make me?”
It makes me wonder if there’s still
“a romantic in there” or if the
way I think is an “art form” too
If beautiful really is “two steps above pretty”
and that kid still hopes to be
“the voice of our generation”
If “the weight of caring is
greater than most people know”
And what could be
is more absolute than what is
If we will ever have a secret place
where the sky doesn’t feign lavender

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