Responding to Gregory Maqoma

Self-doubt twists my earlobes.
A billboard screams Jesus exists.
I don't believe in apocalyptic retribution.
The blood-red sunrise is shameless.
The graveyard eats our baby shoes.
I hate how life answers questions.
Temptation, in his lingerie, loves me.
The stained glass of skin so brittle.
I need escape from small town eternity.
I recognize hope by its fleetingness.
A mother breastfeeds in the parking lot.
Dogs exist and are usually friendly.
Every day is a flare thrown down a well.
The humans I know are suffering but alive.
When I'm dead, I'll breakdance naked.
I dance on my grave, just breathing.
The twisting stings like Hell.