Searchlights

The sky is obsidian
as we march across
open palms

staking our claim as
imperialists of the heart

we plant
our flag beneath

fingernails scraping along
chalkboards

measuring human nature
for its funeral tuxedo

ordinary

colors draped across
the setting sun as we

open our eyes to
the blinding maze
of our most intimate wishes

splayed across the driveway
like emotional roadkill.

Advertisement