The fall came, for me, often down
Inside. Then, deranging, stranger, this penitentiary,
Furnished barely and haunting, this desert,
This house concealed me. Okay, unworldly cell,
Knocked-out almost, next to the furious gas stove,
I fell for visions more hermetic than sacred,
While trees got themselves naked.
Sentenced, rapt, withdrawn,
Conjuring virgins, my God, no God could approve,
Topsy-turvy, floored in ecstasy,
I eyed, across ascetically plastered walls,
Angels falling through cracks to flirt,
And keeping my eyes peeled hurt.
Under the table and curtains, broken as bread,
I fasted, except for spoonfuls,
And, stranger, I held my own,
Squinted toward sexy trees, for angels unmerci-
Ful climbed white walls for love.
Jack Hayes
© 2010
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