the sinners wept. living sounds like
screwing in nails; when all you need
is a hammer.
like a trumpet under Lake Michigan-
channelling comment cards to those
who do not read,
and counting coconuts always takes up
when there is everything to do and nothing
their eyes tell you they want you,
but you know their thoughts.
and they are responsible,
and will not take you for themselves.
and you will not feel their skin on yours
and you will not taste their neck.
it makes the sinners weep-more than black berries
after the summer,
more than the rights of spring,
more than jesus,
because he was lucky; and took the liberty of saints
and died early.