God The Broken Lock
I've died enough by now I trust
just what's imperfect or ruined.I mean God,
God who is in the stop sign
asking to be shotgunned, the ocean that evaporates even
as we float.God the bent nail & broken lock,
and God the hangnail.The hangnail.
And a million others might be like me, our hopes
a kind of illegal entry, a belief in smashed windows,
like breaking & entering into a concert hall,
the place my friend & I crawled into an air shaft, & later
fell asleep.After breakage
there is always sleep.
We woke to gospel hymns from the...