Poets Deal in Li(n)es

We must confess
our urgency to be blessed
by the poet whose next
misery addresses
how his personal hell is

Upturned tables
spent perfume
permeating the atmosphere
like rocket shells
how a torn dress sells
uncertainty best
how the moon deprives
the sinner his rest.

The poet is our priest
we are his trust
growing the value
of the faces
he divests.