This prophet is still waiting.
I have smitten the whores
& the beasts who frequent them.
Despite the neglect of my temples
still you feed me narcotics.
I am drowning in sugar.
You think you are alive.
I have torn your skulls.
these chastened cups will be burnt
in fires tended by lazy acolytes.
I’m just not sure where they are anymore.
All the doors to my sanctum are locked.
Perhaps my followers crowd the forum
dressed in their soiled white.
I’m sure they still hunger
for the lotion of my notions.
Down by the dumpsters
a devil spoke my name he
had a court order.
Ears, ears & Glory
I flew towards the light
though all my guts were stolen
& the howls of golden ambulances
inscribed the night with my verses.
Having licked tears from every eye
upon my bed of trouble
I have become the Sea
though the salt cannot bother me.
Become seasoning my season
has crusted to reason.
The weight of these truths,
I cannot stand up.
You shall follow me again.
Over 40 years Wicks has performed widely across the globe. Published in over 350 different magazines, anthologies & newspapers across 28 countries in 15 languages. Conducts workshops & runs Meuse Press which focuses on poetry outreach projects like poetry on buses & poetry published on the surface of a river. His 14th book of poetry is Belief (Flying Islands, 2019).