Get me to God's country

house with storm shutters and dead

lawn no one watered while I was gone

it seems I’m the last person on earth

who wants to have a beer with me

on the rotted porch, schödinger’s cacti

illegible beneath their spiked crowns

I tried the city on a saturday night

but it didn’t like my taste

in flags and slurs, women spreading

legs like bibles, shrink-wrapped bibles

collecting dust on bookstore shelves

no place for a God. no place for me.

out here I can get whatever I want

and it wants me back, thank God

for beer fridges and a book so big

I never had to read a part I didn’t like