the first thing a whore does
at the end of the day
is shower to wash away
what they’ve done, and for what.
i want to visit the heaven
of f. rogers and j. denver,
so i’ll know things are gonna
get better when we die.
and the grace
that you keep falling from;
crawling towards bethlehem,
comforting the seconds left
you’re untying the bound.
“could you do me a favor
for awhile,and wait here,
see if they look back?”
you get angry
we didn’t all scatter
in the fear of things to come.
in the meantime,
i’ll be the one who runs.
and the things you do
to ease the pain
of the things you’ve done
are going to drive you insane.
you can’t keep your hands
to yourself. you’re gonna see
if you can be someone else
and be free from the self
you doubted you’d see
in anyboby else except me.