Nomance 4

Slept late Sunday
My mourning spent asleep
My prayers nightmares
In a casket of covers
Six feet asunder
Pushing up lazies
Stiff as a boarder
In a hotel in the ground.

Some Sunday
My worship shall be one
Of love and let lie
My hymn a her
Your eyes stained glass
Your arms a cross
My chest
As if I martyr to you
As if preach time you breathe
My soul is saved.

Sorry Sunday
My bed two sighs too small
For so many dreams
No reason to rise
I shut my eyes
And atheize
For I'm no sleeping beauty
And you're no good knight kiss.