Little Testament

And then my old back-anger 

hot-trotted in, 

heeling, 

wagging me, 

all stabs of yaps, 

ashamed at its own lot. 

O to wage a rage city-sized! 

Blitzkrieg your bricks, 

slave your rivers, 

bury very air. 

De-served! 

A-lass, my wrath was 

filleted  squirrelling  barrelled-in  

plath. 

Around then, I learned 

the point of God is non-existence 

like love’s points are hates: 

day-ly hates; little hates; hate-lets. 

Table-twos’ 

shin-splints 

Habiting’s  

pan-peaks   

Holidays’ 

port-cheeks 

Honeymoon’s 

brink-pink 

Ol’ heart gnarl, 

       love annoys. 

Oh, scratch it.

    Let’s grow ringed like a redwood 

    rooted with need 

            deeper than drills 

                   rising past heat. 

                   And before we fall 

                   the earth will move.