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.
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