Prescribe Rebirth

I’m the bad deed
from 1990, the
walking, talking
regret. I spell
filth with the sway
of my hips and
speak in tongues.
Baptized in Holy
tequila; my God
f***s me every
night with bles
-sings that drip
from my lips and
almighty sanctuary.
Baby, you can
find me at the corner
of Southline and
Ever Lasting Life
with a box of matches
and burning questions.
Offerings of dead,
red roses and KY.
I stammer down
the grocery isle
of Walgreens with
a list of tortilla chips
and forgiveness.