Sins rise and manifest, take form

and prisoners. He takes the golden rule

and applies it inverse - as we do unto ourselves

He does unto others. The fat asses back to them

in beef grease potatoes. The hardness in the shape of smoke out

her painted blue lips. The furor in parents at a ballfield

sprinting the line of the fence, screaming. The

pang of ego in heated leather seats. A poor man's dignity

in a rap song, beating holes in the chest. A whiz kid's roaring void

as he lies outside his own life's lottery. And, at the root, the endtrails

of stock numbers, baked fresh, the treadmill of avarice. When He

takes the girl from her home, leaves in her a trash bin or amidst

dead corn stalks, part of us breaks while the rest gets

quiet and centered at the certainty of deeds at work.