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120 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 14, 2012
Hell is the most miraculous invention of love,
no matter how the love turns out.
Hell is the place from whence the music of longing—
which accounts for most of what we call music—
gets written.
(From 'Panic in the Year Zero')
“Let in the needy, the glutinous,
the bald-headed children nearly posthumous.
Finish each thought with a sprinkle of pixie dust.
Hello, once formidable kingdom. Goodbye” (76).
“When I see the flattened box of an out building
lying in a rusty rhombus on the ground,
I think of so-and-so. Or whojamadoojy.
That’s where I met him, the man who was it for now.
The Luke who was my mark.
The Matt who was my john.
So many acts. xx” (88).
“Let him be born of every ash that glows
in the oil drums of winter parks.
Let lesions disappear, let brittle bones be knit.
Let the integrity of every artery be restored.
There is no God but that which visits us
in skin and thew and pleasing face.
He offers up this body. By this body we are saved” (103).