The Sky Breaks. It Sags And Breathes

I Raise My Pelvis To God So That It May Know The Truth Of How Flowers Smash Through The Long Winter.

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

God Owns Heaven But He Craves The Earth.

I Sit At My Desk Each Night With No Place To Go, Opening The Wrinkled Maps Of Milwaukee And Buffalo, The Whole U.s., Its Cemeteries, Its Arbitrary Time Zones, Through Routes Like Small Veins, Capitals Like Small Stones.

My Business Is Words. Words Are Like Labels, Or Coins, Or Better, Like Swarming Bees.