Every Morning Prayer

A delivery man drops a
Poorly wrapped package on our stoop
Another thing to put among
The many I keep,
What now, pig? Lord knows
There’s no need
, & then however open
To let fantastic evil—a gorgeous writhing
Leap from the box.

Therefore I require
New raiment daily, Lord—
Sewn in kind,
Sufficient unto the day,
This day, sky-
Blue corners rounded off,
Brothers & sisters
Dying, right & left—O sufficient
Unto this day.

I am awake
My trouble out there
Waiting for me
The hat you gave me
The only one that ever fit
Jaunty on my woe-swollen head. So what
Now, Lord? I don’t know. Let’s go.

An Apple Is Not Simply A Realist Drama.

The show is free to enter and will take an inventory of your Chicago friends.

In case anyone is totally bored today, I'll tell Sarah.

We should go there, get some haven't.

I should say that Nazis are gonna march in New Jersey.
Nah, I should say Nazis are gonna march in all genres.

There she sways, with her lopsided limbs, her rickrack teeth.

Yes, I thought of Winston.

My book on current events will soon be out, a fine thing. But bricks
get right to the point.

Thanks, friends, for my alter ego, Jack Frost.

I maybe should have said that I'm dreaming.

What a section or sorrow, or a thousand other things.

And shut up, Golding.

I'm part of golf, with the surprising and bitter stuff of real life.

I maybe should and would do well as a thing, if ever she sways.

Nah, he was bounced against experience.

We assume a God who is morally our website . . .

I thought of the Embattled Wilderness, which is a shadowlife tucked under my discomfiting daughter.

An apple is not simply a realist drama.

If people don't come and hope, then fly off again in the body of the President! Let's get ready to rumble!!!

A person saying I'm too old to use that transformation from Hair: Rollins College, 1970.

My bodyeaves! And there she sways, with traces of poems!

The hauntingly beautiful ending I'm part of.

See you later, Boy-O.

I maybe should say I’m dreaming.

She Was Once

Poet commits suicide by papercut
Today Show chimp goes ape
Chains, anodized blue titanium
Dangle from the ascension

I shall be then as swiftly where I list
As I be now in my thoughts ghostly

Pinged by ancient girlfriend—
Another sex party scuffing the ether

Ophelia lives quietly in France, yes
The invisible claims a body
Scarless future, black satin riding coat
The past flowing from her ponytail

Our work should be ghostly not bodily
Hamlet’s looked; can’t find Shakespeare

JEFFREY SKINNER’s seventh full collection of poetry, Chance Divine, won last year's Field Prize, and has just been published by Oberlin College Press. His I Offer This Container: New & Selected Poems, is also just out, from Salmon Poetry. He is a 2014 Guggenheim Fellow, and a recent winner of a literature award from the American Academy of Arts & Letters.