Pope John Paul II
maybe
Johnny P the Deuce
(to his friends)
empassions an Easter sermon
years before the Passion
or millennia after
to Jane Fonda
feathered red and nicotine stained
watching the city burn
one
station wagon
at
a
time

fiancé music
a masked Frenchman
beer mugs
and Hallelujah
ice cream and gyros
ringing bells
carillon empassions
aquamarine capos
bug-bite hoverings
Follow me !
through haydream
daydews, to
songs out of
no where.
I guess that's
why they call it the blues,
because God only
knows what I'd be
without you;
Bethlehem.
Maybe I'd be a
breathless mess
or a hapless test
but flowers are for today
and toddlers are for tomorrow
there need no more poems
about sorrow.