"Valentine with saints and sharps."
"There's not much to do but sit on the asphalt
of little sorrows in white plastic chairs.
If we connect gold foil dot to dot, Roman candles ablaze.
Sweet Sebastian, his back nicked with arrows,
mother of pearl Cecilia in her rented wedding dress,
a skull cap, and oh, the trick floor ever more.
Miserable comforts, hairpins, saint-shaped scars,
graven into arms outstretched, glass eyes, a tray full
of the holy shit fires, bells, bells, and acquire trip-wired.
Now the lesser saints.
Wrong skyjackers dropped from the cumuli, sharps
in the statuary."