ON SOME ROCK
today I received eight letters from heaven
some were junk but others directives
I could tell from the way they wrote my name
whether god was happy or sad
I throw a party for god
I do the dishes for god
this is how I elicit my own best
behavior, not that I believe in
burning in blue flames
or in demons with fourteen names
or even that there is some procedure
after death—still I won’t pretend—
I live mostly with the soul
it’s the soul that bathes
that dips the lobster in butter
that opens the blue envelopes
with a silver blade
that answers the phone call from lowes
and cries in the café
reading someone else’s bad poems
and I am always interested
in sunning the soul
the way dh lawrence had lady chatterley
burning up on some rock
and feeling herself thinking
about her rockhard farmer
look, I live on a heightened plane
dine alone, get my nails shellacked pink
and move on to houellebecq’s poems.
my soul in ballgown
no longer screams or complains
I no longer look for a muse
I’ve tamed that shrew
we sit on the balcony and cackle
illustration by Happy Burbeck