What Arms? Poem by Benjamin Chiu Uy

What Arms?

Sometimes In blanks I am thinking again,
The worldas a womb,
Without shape
the water holds no contamination

Without a star
there would not be an imagination,
Without precipitation's
there's no anger management,
Delusions and prayers will not be a practice,

The skies will not be famous
as scapegoats,
and turbulent inaptitudes,

Saints and sinners
defrocked as wings and doves in hell,
euthanized as dead trophies,

There will be nothing
to live and die for,
No flesh to roasts or eat,

No face
to recall or relocate

ID's and patented diseases,
it was neither a bird or a feather,
nor a gunor a holster,
I carried in what arms.?