His Cigarette Propensity

Guide me, Spirit, to that twelfth day
thunderstruck though I am
safe now in the Lord's hands
white tee plastered to my skeleton chest
teenage nipples stiff proving
my soul was saved
embarrassed, erect, elated
holding my nose blabbering
manifesto mantras maintaining
it all w. a hand raised high

salute this king of the jews, they told me
return my bygone grandfather to
his blithe form so I don't have to watch my
own dad die
burning bush etiquette, I guess

listen here, I've been to the deep desert too
cried at the rising sun's great golden hemorrhage
pricked my palm and ran Jack Daniels
over the bleeding trails
my mythos revelation unfolding in the design
revealed to any harlot wet enough to listen

guide me, Spirit, shaking in a holy fit to
that twelfth day pasture
among his piles of discarded hems and garbs
his cigarette propensity
I alight with songbird salvation like a
petty jewel thief, rummage in the scripture
and take what is mine.

TA