Sunday,
a day of poetry or piety or
pie eating Shy Yeti's
My Gettysburg address is
219a Lincoln Street but I meet and
change
so many addresses
it depresses me so,
so I don't often go there.

Out where it's dark and my heart darts behind coat sleeves, everything leaves me alone, no need for a permanent home
I just melt into the stockbroker belt,
ever felt like that?
when everyone is flat but you want to be a round them anyway.

Sunday,
Leviticus for tea,
in the psalms of my hand where my palms used to be, I read out the lines that say,
religion's got
me.