We, the starving volunteers; the ones who go without. The
shoeless, hair-shirts, bonded, veiled; seekers of the
drought now stand before your floral gate to rend these
rags and shout your name. In your name. We came to whine,
remind you that it's time for endless vigil. On stone
cold floors, on ashes or on white hot nails. Slow motion
tip-toe and vicious gales that flex then flail then punch
from all directions. In your name. Our crosses rotting in
the rain, we hang before you in your name.We bear the
bitter mark of Cain.
