this orange shirt is too bright
when the storm outside the vauxhall nightclub
rages, vicious; agents of divine retribution
have be answerede by some omission.

we attempt to dance a little closer,
though the jostling of bodies too tightly packed
mocks the ludicrous essay; we cannot know
nore even guess the sports that we provide the gods.

to be forgiven is our dearest wish -
the sin cannot be names, cannot be spoken.