she said some unclean thing made it into heaven.
therefore: influenza in the lungs of all the mountains
the ocean is turning white and light is cracking
mid-air littering dead space with meteorite gunpowder.
the sun is sneezinging with yellow fever, cut,
sitting coughing on a razored horizon, bleeding—
who knew solar floods turned an ocean red.
i said it was good the moon was in the ocean.
she said god placed it there to stop the bleeding.
god’s been busy amputating gangrene planets,
a pile of mountain-limbs, river-fingers and volcanic organs
red and glistening, beating and throbbing.
they’re at the bedside table of every planet.
angels clean scalpels, check fluids and clipboards.
i cried, because my christianity was now in jeopardy.