With a renaissance, of the inkwell’s sobriety
a shadow’s cloak and quill contraption
shifting gears to all my buckle ups
and notoriety on the stage scandalizing
my behavior as I sniff Winnie-the-Pooh
and sing in birdsong
as the deacon said, “Its all imagination”
of loved ones and bones under the pew
dipping my toesies in the font’s urn
smiling at the choir tossing my confetti
as my ass slips on a confession’s peal
while winking at Mother Goose
with two balloons for Sister Sarah
“the lord loves a cheerful giver”
she said with a wiggle and a prayer
empting my pockets in the potluck plate
and whispered “it’s all just dark humor”
as the priest said “Amen”
and I giggled, “Damn right”
