Sunday, March 2, 2014

Church Sunday

To give who got a pocket stomach knot whose
little pots all cook the lot,

these bitter things I like are like a white lip secret
thrilling tips of tongues held tight

Big bear big nowhere big little big heart big
pouring jug whose wine and holy water make
a line across a line

He crossed and said a father ghost son three he
kissed me then and blessed my dreaming be and
wished my be to be a better be than his had been and
wished the beans and rice of modesty upon
my doorstep

Internally I a crafty liar lied a most elaborate lie to
gain his trust so I could
sleep so deep and deep inside the side of righteous
Sky King high

Eternally hungry but
eternally fed
dream this dream that
He's forgotten more of than I will ever remember.

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