money in my hair, the church
in your wallet. the sink full of
losses, tapeworm growing in the
toilet. coughed up a bouldering
lava in my sleep, saw it all
hiccuping away with the
better causes. oh, with so many
directions, loving becomes less
distinct. falling for the priest in his
handsome robe, he's trying to
think himself out of all those
privacies. he tells me- live for what's
limited, my friend. give out your
mornings, your little memories, and
your sanctions. God, things
are changing.
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