beneluxe

 

 

dip a communion wafer in chef boyardee

paint one fingernail blue &

blame it on the slapping of the screen door

take a twenty in exchange for

a cold bath with a red faced man

a crowd of praise for your borrowed t shirt

fall down when the threaded hands tell your back they’re ready

they’ve got you

limp your torso into their hot god hands

turn on your side

make your face a blank bliss they’ll bless and walk away from

walk away from it

get back to the darkness

your nose to a pew

breathing the vintage stain

your fingers following black maps in blue hymnals

your butt against a velvet stool

your mother’s voice in tongues

let two white wasps

impossible

precise

fly capable to your chest

and give the signal