What of prayer?

Sinners, difference, capitol of blood
we pray for our bandages and lips.
Doors of technology open for guests
breaking because the glass raps.
The doors are thinking. Watch behind the flame
there is ash to blanket skin
with charcoal, it kisses in grunge spots
and poets for the clouds, we pray.
Of havoc stains, what will magic spread?
Underneath the silhouette of kitchen knives,
beaten, breathless, brunette child wanders
through the park leaves, praying against a thorn-bush
and she sings a song for everyone, about planes, ducks
and the underground musicians.