what he called my crab consciousness, merely his description for my either avoiding or digging a hole

With great poetry God is not only in the details, but in the details of the details.

It’s time to strip the altar. Time to hollow

I can sit at your feet, and feel the troubled waters of my body still

The art didn’t impress us as much as the sidewalk moving us along

maybe she woke up, a piece of manna in her bony fist