On Sundays
the Good People of the isle
are called to church
by beautiful bells
in white towers -
they are devoted
to their pews,
to the man preaching
from the pulpit,
to the hope they will be
redeemed
for one more week
while the Rest Of Us
lie in our beds
hugging pillows hard
just to feel
an echo of heartbeat,
to continue
the dreams of a stranger
doing wicked things
between our legs,
to pray
God will turn off the power
until Tuesday.






Hilly xxx

meg





























89 old applause
