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Sacrament
Look at the trees, I said!
Branches scraping
flakes of blue
from a loaf of sky!
Look at the trees, I said.
Their weathered skin
reaching ozone deities
before they die.
Look at the trees, I said!
Their ceaseless yearning
spreading leafless veins
in supplication.
Look at the trees, I said.
From where we stand
no closer to God
than yesterday.
Prophesy
I pushed my wanton self
from my mother,
and gaped blindly
at the black backness
of my squinting eyelids,
while flattening
my massive tongue
against the bottom
of my mouth;
all the more room with
which
to scream
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