When Moses came down the mountain, / his face glowed, burned by holy fire. / I like to think of his dried tongue, / a piece of leather in his mouth.
Three does and a trailing buck / tiptoe through the campsite / traveling from one sweet nibble / to another. Blue columbine closes.
Congratulations to all of our nominees!
Oh Jeff, oh Sylivia, sweet Scorpios dead at 30, / I’m too old to gas myself or go swimming with my boots on
Dusk comes to me / With all her baskets, / Singing.
Perhaps humanity, like every dog, / has had its day. / / And God has retired / to his Carmel by the Sea / / like an exhausted Doris Day, / his voice played out, / / ruined by whiskey, / cheating accountants, / / and smoky cabarets;
The minister tells me that if I want / more money to spend on my family, / I should give more money to the church. / This is called spiritual mathematics.
These are hard days: / the sodden sheets, robes, scapulars / are scrubbed with salt and ash / / and now need rinsing