Day 10..Sonnet, my favourite superhero/saint/god

 Not sonnets, but 14 lines each


My favourite superhero

Is bruised, bruises. We are in a dark room, tending our wounds. We are often in the dark.It's important we feel this, important that you see we're human.

We punch as we learned, straight arm and fist, no haymaker.Shouldn't bleed, but does, from tiny cuts in superskin.What we do best is exist, are human.

Can you imagine what power is, burning in the veins, neon blood, or quiet as the salt in oceans, or being made of starstuff, or understanding others' minds?

We're born with a mutation of ourselves- not scared, we have abilities- move seconds at a time into the future, see clearly to the past, a push and pull, atomic

And we have created words
And we have created worlds

My favourite Saint

You buy the red votive candle,
put it by your bed, the wax melts,
carmine, white, into a rapture.
I don't tell you that secretly,
I stole the right tibia of St Anonymous the Kind
from its golden capsule in St Marks
in the crypt of soft dark miracles.
It lives in my reliquary now, and nightly,
I trace it with my finger. They fixed the bone
where it had splintered, a thread of molten gold,
and it is on this fault line that I whisper.
And perhaps, you'd count my thoughts as prayer,
the way you thought those rosary beads
were pretty, one by one , each holy, or profane.


My favourite God

Isn't
My
Own-
That
Would
Be
Conceited
But
I
Think
They're
Beautiful
And
Busy

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