Loose Needlework
The sage walks round in circles. Blessings burn.
The blessings burn farewell. They burn the facts.
They never matter. They are there to turn
To incense all your scarred up faithless acts
Against your wife, and son, and Jesus, too,
Those ones you think you love. That’s why you say
You came here to the island of voodoo.
You parachuted in for the easy highs
And looseness on the bed and beach. The loose,
It turns out, is the point of your belief.
Some looseness in a worship will seduce
You every time. You nailed a ganja leaf
To your cathedral door in Kingston. Toke
On toke you took preparing for your coke.
~ Phillip Whidden