If hell, like soylent green, is people,
every little hermit is the one true God.
The Easter Mass begins, Don’t put that
in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been.

I climb. I mean your skull. Its walls.
It’s roomy, a man can stretch his legs.
This is the sea, that is a mountain. Now let us say
the prayer for discarded dolls.

A bunch of weird precepts about war –
you call that a religion? I’m fixing
a hole where my mind gets in.

Tonight the locusts ride. The fields are theirs.
Step out into the flensing swarm
if you want to make like a tree and buzz.