Κύριε Ἰησοῦ Χριστέ, Υἱὲ τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἐλέησόν με τὸν ἁμαρτωλόν.
you were mortar fire in my vacationist mind
I have your wild brain
We drove down Mendenhall, and your fifth step
foreshadowed
my
flailing life
I plucked my pukas
and stared at a homeless woman
Memphian Mysterion,
a thousand tears old,
I know the burning.
I know the burning.
No comments:
Post a Comment