Standing in her house today all I could think of was whether
   she took a shit every morning

or ever fucked anybody
or ever fucked
herself

God’s poet
singing herself to sleep

You want these sorts of things for people

Bodies and
the earth
and

the earth inside

Instead of white
nightgowns and terrifying
letters


*


Here she comes
her hands out in front of her
like a child flying
above its bed
at night
Her ankles and wrists held tightly between the fingers of some
   brightly lit parent home from a party

Flying

Her spine
spinning

Singing “Here I come!”

Her legs pumping
her heart
out


*


Heaven is everywhere
but there’s still
the world
The world is made out of cancer, house fires, and Brain Death,
   here in America

But I love the world

Emily Dickinson
to the rescue

I used to think we were made of bread
gentle work and
water

We’re not
but we’re still beautiful
killing each other as much as we can
beneath the pines

The pines that are somebody’s
masterpiece

Tumblr isn’t a good place for poetry, for formatting and other reasons, but I quite liked this one. I have heard obnoxious stories about the Poetry Twins and dismissed them without reading—they are published together in single issues of the New Yorker! Barf—but that’s small-hearted, and the part of me that was really into Dave Eggers at age 19 says, You should be ashamed! Then that part asks why you can’t HTML a blockquote inside a blockquote. [UPDATE: You can do that; my b.]

(Poem: h/t)