JOY WAR

     Joy wore see-through – nipples visible as bulls in china rubble. Throughout the war, Joy wore see-through.

      True to an arrow. Honest with a sling. Ducks wholly in a row. She wore on her finger a lingering of the onions she kissed enough to mince in her sleep; as the war wore on.

     I round the point. The wind tears tears from the eye. So Joy sews sorrow  borrowed from the dead.

     Joy wails through the wind: Come inside, now you see through. Then whispers: The grass so greener on the suicide.

     Joy combats bats; daubs cheek to tongue. Claws till the flying mice dash echoes in a mirrored cell, to sell the flip of their flop. Joy goes to bat for going bats for the euphoria of the sheer hell of swing.

     Joy springs well-versed in universe. Because before, when justice on a tear tore, her heart ran just ice; for everywhere Joy’s heart wears in the blood war.

     The world was indeed done in a day; done in and done in a day. But like the drunk of Noah has no end, no point; only joy; and the war wore on; and on wore the war, when Joy wore see-through.