are God, please don't
give me
too much
specific proof. Just—sort of
hover in the back-
ground
and guide
these poor
phrases
limpidly through
the holes
in each of the letters
in your name,
imbuing and
anointing them, by
so-doing,
with just enough
of that oily
whiff of the truth—such that
of that oily
whiff of the truth—such that
other men
and women
will feel subtly moved,
perhaps
less by
their message,
than the hugeness
of its
purview—less by
this text
than its
infallible context.
Please,
make mine
a stiffer kind
of corrugated poetry,
composed
of both—words
and their conspicuous
intermittent absence;
of both—
religious-
like conviction
and its occasional
(forgivable)
overzealous misprint.
Please.
I'm not even asking
for anything
everlasting
everlasting
or permanent. It's just—
my thinking,
right this second—
right this second—
really needs a scaffolding.
