When the devil Chooses to make your hands A cradle to usher his earthly form, Makes them restless with the wanton need to see what happens when a house is set ablaze See what color your blood is in black light Or whether razors really break the skin while your heart begs for calm What do you do? I turn my hands towards myself and begin to dig towards my chest. My hands search tirelessly for a heart which screams in town squares. I wrap the devil around my neck. Watch as my legs stop kicking Feel my hands trace the rivers buried in my heart. Draw the warmth out of my body Like fishermen pull up scores of fish. I have never known peace this way But the devil never escapes when I bury him in ancient rivers.