let’s say the world doesn’t end

and you go to its edge

and yes, it is a real place: the ocean pounding

and pounding at the gates, white foam

winged and salty and lonely sluicing

and feral will you

stay there, on your hands and knees

looking for god count your infinite

offenses into an unending rosary try to be good

on a land you never really

could claim kin to tilling your

lonely into a field

or will you find another way
make your own heaven know
the seed that makes you roam
this world like tina turner in mad max:
black bad assed and silver haired
enthroned in your own bare skin beguiled in
your own story its siren call