Everyone in paradise has a gun.
The vaulted sky can hardly contain
the radius of their scars.

In the glades gasoline pools
like shadows around corpses.
Here in paradise, shelter is scarce.

Spark the fire. Go ahead.
Parasitical fools: go ahead and
ignite this scarred cartography.

Inspired, you can devise such
graceful means. I’ve heard
your foolish prayers and cringed.

A halo shines, full of sin. Holiness
sparkles a nun in the presence
of her lord. Oh stellar one,

divine grace — reveal an opening
in this arcana — our faces turned up
to sudden rain.