THE CURSE
The best work’s been written in my head,
Where I have no paper or pen,
And where it seems to thread
Aimless until I remember it again.
Transcribing the words like this—less good.
INVITATION
My mouth is open to you—
to enter, to clean,
to heal like a wound.
IN RESPONSE TO
The sign asking,
What would Jesus do?
I prefer to ask,
What would Pontius do?
Then wipe my hands
Imperially in the air,
Turn, and walk away.
