Sanctified Fours

Why do they lie to us

get us when we’re young

tell us four
is a healing number,
that God creates order
in the world by fours


Order provides no satisfaction,

God’s Midwestern “seasons”
they howl in lake-effect winds


I give you benevolence in frozen fingertips


The celestial adjectives to order harvested lives.

 Order provides no satisfaction

for a land-locked state

Don’t make us look to the North,
there’s only dirty meth-headed Michigan
and the East is just hiding
 more monsters in Ohioan corn

South may hold “St. Joseph’s River,”
but St. Joseph is no father of mine
West is Chicago, and I can’t make my tiny feet follow
Dillinger and Capone’s blood trail to lead me there

there is no satisfaction in any Promised Land.


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