Tea tastes like fire-milk.
Grace tastes like mud and honey.
You can be poisoned:
honey, grace, heavenly fire;
the flesh rejects, radiates.
11 x 10; Pave
Memory is salt,
a paver's measure of hell,
in a liar’s dream:
a blanket, a leash, green lawn,
sugarshock. The worst: yourself.
11 x 10; Reap
Steady scythe, hands, breath,
something about her reads death;
her hands say watch it,
boy; long first step down, or last.
You think of a flower-field.
11 x 10; Light
Grace is not photons.
There are different light-kinds.
There is a sickness
in everyone; give up
your body go home at last.
