the king of A.A. part II *

This morning
when your half-full bottles of Jack Daniels forsake you
for a thirstier, more perfect drunk,
when the white-throated sparrow
sings profanely to you in your borrowed clothing,
when God hands you the Death Baby
instead of rocking you like a father would,
you should be happy with this.

This morning
when you see winter coming
carrying a cross and a star,
when your soul adheres to your bones
like a suicide hugs her gun,
when you tuck away so many lies
that your pockets bulge and rip,
you should be happy with this.

Be happy with this,
as Vermillion’s ten-thousandth
blizzard hides you from God.
Tilt your head back,
gather a mouthful of snow,
and pray, let me swallow magic.

And as your side is slit
by the tight smiles on the lips of poets
who have nailed you, silent, to a cross
that is meant for a thief who has stolen
more than words, be happy. No one else
has had her eyes pinched shut by a star.
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* for alice, who asked for this back.