My Death From The Wrists, Two Name

God Went Out Of Me As If The Sea Dried Up Like Sandpaper, As If The Sun Became A Latrine. God Went Out Of My Fingers. They Became Stone. My Body Became A Side Of Mutton And Despair Roamed The Slaughterhouse.

Once I Was A Couple. I Was My Own King And Queen With Cheese And Bread And Rosé On The Rocks Of Rockport.

Yet Love Enters My Blood Like An I.v., Dripping In Its Little White Moments.

My Objects Dream And Wear New Costumes, Compelled To, It Seems, By All The Words In My Hands And The Sea That Bangs In My Throat.

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.