open your mouth to the stand of trees
automatic vultures tend to sneeze.
sonic or sickness, hums a creature first
where it matters, it matters most.
a nun escapes the passenger seat
her luck in a trunk at the covenant
a hero she gave up on for lent
bedsheets in sapphire, the room for rent
foreign geography with a touch of sobriety
lossless in an empty stall to call up
mirrors at an anxious length in a haul\
you carved out a tomb where
a winter went instead.
no one listens close in the city of god
dreams startle beans where green glass grows
in a fit without luck, the prayer picks a fist
in a knife fight with oblivion.
ericryangrant.com 
