7×5 (Uncut)

I have danced naked in fields of heather
      among deposed noblemen and soft-spoken gentlemen
      encouraging me to reach up my left hand
      and touch a finger descending from heaven

The middle, longer than an intermission, unending
      in its proportions—a performance of eleven
      inches swallowing itself in increments of seven
      at which we hissed, laughing

It has an eye! a storm into which all men are still shouting;
      there they lose their confidence and comprehension
      as if the gods wanted them
      to be blinded by a serpent

I have glanced past it, up at its beginning;
      a poverty of pictures folded into a palm
      begging alms of the sky, receiving
      only a rain of balls sweating gowns

My free-loving brides hail as evidence
      only those exiled from its garden
      understand as the lost message
      miscommunicated long before the apple landed

A shower wedding truth to deviants
      dancing supplications
      up to the beard tickling us
      and I their prophet swallowing lightning

I have flashed conviction among convicts, and
      never giving in, even when giving head, have remembered him;
      it’s the importance of seeing the skull beneath the skin
      to never mention rope in the house of a hanged man.