Crazy Sharon Talks to the Bishop
I met the Bishop on the roadand much said he—same old porridgeI heard as a child, my little bodya “foul sty.”
“Love has pitched his mansion.” MaybeLove pitched her silken tent.Love has raised its dwelling inthe place of reproduction, which can be
fitted with a full moon devicewhich functions as a saving grace.And maybe everything can be rent,everything can be sole or whole—like an
asshole. I met a Bishop, once,when I was a teenager mad as hell abouteternal fire and birth control.We were sitting in my mother’s living room—
for I have built my poems ina place of opulent privilege—I held out my fingers, and wiggled them at him,and said “I’m trying to make you levitate.”
He was not holding his crook, or his mitredhat, but he was wearing a…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, March/April 2022