a homeless proselyte;
his yellow teeth ringed like an old
oak betraying its age,
confessing long winters
of hunger and paper-thin coats.
he proclaims holiness,
the kind that reproduces,
dandelions in the garden,
covering the continent in their cotton
helicopters.
the couple at the table
look at the ground and reply
that holiness lives between our shoulders.
no, he says, it falls
down from the sky.
the world ends last month,
haven't you heard?
his yellow teeth ringed like an old
oak betraying its age,
confessing long winters
of hunger and paper-thin coats.
he proclaims holiness,
the kind that reproduces,
dandelions in the garden,
covering the continent in their cotton
helicopters.
the couple at the table
look at the ground and reply
that holiness lives between our shoulders.
no, he says, it falls
down from the sky.
the world ends last month,
haven't you heard?
