Temporary Sanity

Forgive me for
falling asleep
midway through your
sermon about death

and its expanded
role in the modern
dream.  I felt a
need to wash

God's hair in a
river that never
returns while hanging
onto gravity's belt

buckle for balance
and temporary sanity.

Tomorrow

I could smell
my guardian angel's
body rotting in the
closet as seven

gold-plated bullies
sat on their oil
drums counting
the days.  There

was no longer
enough toilet paper.
There was suddenly
too much profundity.

Tomorrow refused
to be another day.

Rub

Signs in the birdshit
suggest an impending
end.  But an end
is always impending

and couldn't be
an end if it weren't.
That's the tub the
rub lies in.  Dreaming

helps a little now
and then.  Other
times it doesn't.
Dreaming after death

is not recommended
in any of the handbooks.

Cute

The last-minute save
we tried to requisition
was out of stock.  I
can hear the night

grinding its teeth
in the dark.  The song
angels are said to sing
in heaven is silent.

There is nothing
more beautiful than
a poor girl's blouse
being worn by the

wife of a billionaire.
She looks so cute in it.

Newer

When I first met
you, you were still
looking for a story
to explain your life

with.  You felt free
to want everything
you didn't have, or
at least the opposite

of what you already
had.  I could almost
feel you trying to
trade yourself in

for a new improved
model.

Guilty

She sleeps through
dawn as if guilty
of every sin she
wishes she'd

had the courage
to commit.  A
dream wrestles
her naked body

to the ground,
her virginity
glowing in the
dark like Jesus.

The gap between
here and now narrows.

Ark

An old blood-stained
altar offers its
meat to God,
whose inaudible

voice deafens
those who hear it.
I rub the bruise
limitation leaves

on my soul
and head for
higher ground.
I flap my wings

in vain and build
an ark out of daydreams.