the liberty of saints

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

the afternoon...

when there is everything to do and nothing
is single.

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.