St. Creola keeps canaries
and doesn't care if they crap on the
that's been rolled in here like coffins at a starting line.
St. Creola keeps cats
and that, dear little pie-eyed pilgrim,
keeps the birds from getting sedentary
another miracle of the beautiful St. Creola.
has rain afflicted your world until
great monsters leap from the guttering?
Does the devil
sleep with your girlfriend,
help herself to your make-up,
your feather bed,
and your little funky vintage Renault?
Tell St. Creola,
like she could care,
like the jelly buttered muffin would stop at her mouth
and she would say, her eyes filling with blessed tears,
Today St. Creola has called the moving men,
so muscular that they ripple while standing still.
They will roll the coffins off the cliff at San Creola,
birthplace of Our Lady;
Honey, she will live forever,
as will her parasol,
as will all who love her,
cleansed in the spray of the coffins returning like swallows to the sea.
St. Creola is serene.
She offers her hand--
Tonight you will share her bed, and in the morning
sleep right through services.
Let your softness leave her boneless, beatific, even a little bruised;
certainly in no condition to notice how
when you pray now,
your gaze is always up
where the birds chirp and flutter
like excited virgins.
"Nothing is as vulnerable as entrenched success."