The moon takes your side when we start
to throw plates at the wall. It stays too long;
pushes morning into the South Pacific. We
might hold each other later, but right now
we’re on fire, right now we’re delicate.
So fill my fear up with prayers,
sing “thank the Lord” even though he
means nothing to you.
In fact, I want God gone,
want him deaf,
want only you to be listening to me-
know that I’ve been made mad by you
and your morals.
Nothing in the history of everything
has ever been more difficult than this-