No more batteries or breakfast. No 
more clean socks. No music. 
Under God’s heavy thumb, I am all animal. 
Unable to crawl away, to kneel upright. 
“This is what happens,” 
God said, and then: nothing. 
My new body is like my old one: a little bored 
and worn out, out 
of prayers and places to rest. 
From this pointillated distance, the city lights look like boats 
floating on top of other boats.