A Liturgy
Brandon Cook
Once a year, after mannequin season,
I read Shakespeare and then go down to Morgan's and buy bourbon, distilled in France
And I spend a week's wages for women
Then I cry by the river
It's a simple rhythm
I can't complain;
It keeps me sane
Every month I take a walk by the docks and smell the fish
My God, it's putrid, of course
And I think, “People eat this!”
It helps 'mind me that life is a great ocean, unknowable, beautiful
And full of soon-to-be spoiling carcasses
They go together, like dark reality
A theater's marquee and
A murder in the alley
Once a week I go to church
I don't listen much, but I do like to see the latest fashions, the women's skirts
And there are times when the old preacher says something that sends lightning to the ground
(There's not much grass around to burn, though, truth be told)
Each day, at night, if the sky is right
I go stand beneath it
I stand beneath it and hope it's emptying into my belly
Sometimes I spread my arms out
But I never shout
One must, after all, train one's self to hold one's swaying
That's the world way—the hardest things happen alone
And we are like trains barreling through a long, cold tunnel
Trusting the unseen bend
Barreling and hoping beyond the end