Valentine with saints and sharps

There's not much to do
but sit on the asphalt-of-little-sorrows
in white plastic chairs.
If we connect goldfoil
dot-to-dot: Roman
candles ablaze.
Sweet Sebastian,
his back knit with arrows,
mother-of-pearl Cecilia
in her rented wedding dress,
a skull cap, and oh
the trick floor evermore.
Miserable comforts, hairpins,
saint-shaped scars graven
into arms outstretched,
glass eyes, a trayful,
the holy-shit-fires,
bells bells
and a choir, tripwired.
Now the lesser saints,
wrong skyjackers
dropped from the cumuli,
sharps in the statuary.

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Copyright © 2011 Joni Wallace All rights reserved
from Crazyhorse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission