For the sin of thirst, surround yourself with mirrors
& wait for baptism.
For the sin of sensitivity, plant yourself among lawn ornaments,
neon-bright & obvious.
For the sin of poverty, expose yourself
to the cauterizing desert of the sky.
Build a stockade between the storm door & the doghouse
to incarcerate the green thieves of light.
You have lived too many years as a parasite,
drunk the high-fructose corn syrup of paradise.
It’s time to tunnel into the brazen day
& shrug off your integument, oh locust.
Under what basket or milk crate have
you hidden your cry?