dear jesus

dear jesus,

the infant mantis remains my hostage as well as sex fantasies presidents advancing in age bikinied and jogging on atolls of my own design wear pastel floppy hats. fisher price mantis legs detached between stacked boxes of ex-possessions, the raccoon receives an awful knock on her noggin by the equinox, stillness and quietude. this is not prophecy. am i to guard the presidential fat roll and loose skin? his tan-lined torso digests epiphanies spoken in a dream of marine one, whirls, whirls, whirls. does the president wait for drink service on air force one or fantasize about the male flight attendants, write his number on a “you are now free to move about the country” cocktail napkin only to throw it away? this is prayer i wrote to sixth-grade sarah unages ago. she never wrote back either dear jesus

was i embarrassed


memory escapes me. perhaps i could rediscover innocence my legs spread in the back of bulletproof gmc suvs. if i ignore you long enough dear jesus and your compassions perhaps i could forget what i was looking for, live in understated bliss, bleach staining all my lost favorite shirts, slacks and reefs while it makes my knickers shining white, a transfiguration.

under a pint glass on my kitchen counter the infant mantis. just say the word and i’ll release.

as. writes. always. waits,