the sinner stands, hiding, waiting for the sun to go down,
the sun that resembles God’s furious eye.
the sky soaks up an oncoming darkness & drinks it into
the world, as the stars begin to pin us down where we sleep, the
world turns its back on the eye. the grounds beneath us
move silently into the irreverent night.

through sanitary hallways, toward dusty confessionals,
through humility & perspiration, sacrificial aging,
loss & temporary insanity, with voices like wild pigs
raging through some burning underbrush,
people can fly in their dreams sometimes.
but our penance is never complete, our minds will never stop,
and the grounds beneath us are never too far away.

when we steal from each other in times like these,
when our bodies atrophy beyond recognition,
the sun might see fit to rise again, the sun that scares us
back to ourselves. with luck & ethereal conversations,
people can talk each other into immortality,
into folklore & legends, but it’s never too long
before the grounds beneath us swallow us whole.