Maybe I’m impressed by church light.
Split pews didn’t part the Red sea
–neither did diagonal stripes or rubbing shoulders.
When I say “impressed” I’m not talking penis, so
put it back in your pocket, those slithering slacks that
make me wonder if you’ve started working out.
This is about art, being over it and being good.
That’s what I came for. I’m so over it.
See God. See Moon. See Conifer. Over.
–But all this stained glass, the bright shades pined against night
sure, come hither, the man in the tower
just stepped out for juice and right now I
sense a potent sparkle from your beacon.
I’m talking literal, I truly believe you’re a ship
full of tiny wisps waving shiny lighters
Cruise liner, tug boat, sinking barge of coal,
what do I know?
Hurry, before I require downfall.
Careful, those rocks are sharp!
Pine Box first appeared in Softblow (2005).
Poem, copyright © Reb Livingston, 2005
Appearing on the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2006, From the Fishouse