You know you’re in / The choicest of spots, / When, staring out the window / You feel a gaping void wheeze / Inside you. Bang, bang, bang, / Flounders a bluebird against / The plate glass. Slap, slap, / Thump, drops the sad truth / Through your bones. So there / It all is. Live Oak. Magnolia. / Mulberry bush. No one / & everything. All there.
They’re gleeful—accident prone / Gods or just accidentally gods— / Let’s call it hi-def smut. / The dirt is tired from so / Many burials. We dislike / The lack of flamingos / In our cities. But the biggest / Challenge is just getting in / To the fun-fun club.
God becomes / Your failures, your guardian / Your switchbacking / Guts
Bring on the grace
For kindness, grace
Of the dash-
Board battered face, grace
Of the ascending,