Thanks for the help! i'll try harder next time!
each sunday is like easter
for Adam.
he puffs his fat apple red lips,
blows impassioned breathe down
a sax's reed eye, tight-
with words drowned
out, in sound
from an abscess lip, like
a saxophone neck, a singin man's
throat, tasting sweet nostalgia of fruit,
with Eve. and Adam
he puffs his fat apple red lips,
blows impassioned breathe down
a sax's reed eye, tight-
“this will give me music, tell us
of birth and death” Eve watched white molars,
canines, incisors pull pulp skin as lips
blew warm, like wolves on carrion
an expression she had no words for, but Adam
could sing. kissed Eve
finds eggs in the grass. glee
before they hatch, he
never cracks a sound, afraid to wake,
the chick in calcium carbonate Eden
to freedom. worried Adam,
she'll think he's a loser. Adam never
cracks an egg-
afraid to walk on shells. He gossips these
gospels with a sax, songs-
with a saxophone that kicked
and brushed tongues
on side to side, singing hymns
to birth and death. and
the creator miscarried
(his sheep)
left wandering, Adam
found the whistling tree in Jerusalem,
saw the first child on the crippled cross,
said
%u201Coh God, not again%u201D