Disbelief suspended from my school of thought
made the world my mattress, beasts my broke back sought;
thick forests flown-over by crop-topped dusters
lusted after sown pleasures. Rust pelted shores,
messed-up waistlines, witnessed my craving Moor
pounding flesh; hell had me reach down and touch her
when heaven’s door opened and love emerged sore,
once I learned to hate the wor(l)d. I hiked up your
holy mountain to help you take your tent down,
now you’re mapping my thoughts; now you’re beating bounds,
churching about, inking sermons—skin without
a skull beneath crumples in a hanged man’s home,
you know, when knots are untied—vows veiled in shouts
fall down wells, too loud to know how far to go.
Each tumble ought to show you hearts can be round;
stones roll sleeves & stitches up this wilderness wound.