H-E, Innocent

God how God loves a good night’s sleep,

And we, who love God, want to count those sheep,

Who ring around cosmos,

To dip into lust, a midnight starbright there and then

A beauty of morning wood,

Shotgun wedding,

Sawed off shotgun weeding,

Let it flourish, if it must nourish, as if a baby, torn from its mother, who was torn from her sweet lover, who was torn from her beloved, who was torn from the earth,

Where a potato grew, hydroponic,

Hystre–onic.