God holds you over the pit of hell,
as one holds a loathsome insect over the fire;
the last of the just rings the bell;
“I tell lies,” said the liar,
a convict released because the question lacked an answer.
He did calisthenics after reveille. She said she had cancer,
but the beast was more in love with his desire
for her than with her beauty, and the camera was just a way to transfer
the self from the self you see when you look in the mirror.
God grew ashamed of his creation. That’s what the gravestone
told the crone. Nevertheless she wants you to stay;
she wants you to pray; and if you do, if you pray,
if the dove returns after the storm has blown,
the cage door will stay open, and you’ll never walk alone,
you’ll never walk alone.
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Author: The Best American Poetry
