Brooks Lindberg

The Three Halves to Sainthood:

I.
A prophet seeks to change the world.
A saint, themself.

I spare neither myself nor others
following my nose.

II.
A prophet blushes at their sins.
A saint, at none.
But both feast on sins
and famish in their absence.

The difference is a matter of gluttony.

I gorge on oysters, pussy, argument, honeycomb.

III.
A prophet needs a devil to overcome.
A saint, their will.

I throw my skinny body into cold ocean—sickness, old age, and death are all I brawl
while knowing this:
I lose.

You do too.

IV. 
I consecrate the earth—
your eyes
your dry skin
every worm in every bowel.

I shall not live posthumously—
I love you now.

Give me a call.

If we are wretched creatures
then friend
fuck salvation.