The law is made not for the righteous: break
the bounds of language recklessly and rebel
against strictures of grammar! I can't speak
without faith, I can't rise above the level
of the ocean without god. The land funnels
the waters to the gulf, the ancient gods
hear prayers muddled in temples. I channel
the light of the Sun like a ruler's rod
glows with the heat of flames. In the odd
signature of time I'm assailed by the sin
of a falling hail, the failure of a period
and age that's closing. The luminaries spin
in nonsense patterns over my suffering body
while my heart longs for anything holy.
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