Grown in the dark

 

There is a way to make

this entirely physical,

the body’s fault

to crave. There is a way

to talk, verbal penance,

until punishment

becomes commonplace.

 

Till driving by

at night, the object

illuminates in spotlight.

The man, there, functions

as priest, at ease

with hackneyed miracle

or spiritual possession.

 

What is there to say

that is enough change

to show in neon light,

and why must indulgence

be costly, complete?

 

This talk is supposed

to stay small, anonymous,

as mundane as murder.