Good night and all that
By Marit Ericson

The universe exploded humanely,
adoring us, our bloodless bodies

clinking toward a preexisting notion,
its knees charged with chalk:  lush,

then stilled.  Say a sun shed our
taints, flesh sold flesh, thorns

grew thorns, or is it all a swaying
in the barley and the bones.

Say bleakness hello-theres in dusty
towns—politeness pebbles

by the road.  Say our church bells
ring out if we die—celery, as a rule,

burns more calories than it adds.
Angels wink from the shadowboxes.

Marit Ericson was born in Massachusetts and recently graduated from West Virginia University with a B.A. in English. She currently lives in New Jersey.

© 2008 prickofthespindle.com