A recently published prayer

From all the sad imperfections
  I did stations,
& got as far as the throwing of dice
  —sad Veronica, too!—

Meeting crucifer at the double-doors
  (boy in a cassock),
  was old carmine glass

Out of my head with all the shit,
  like father, grate
I ratcheted up a gallery: —out of shit in
  my skull—

of the sadness in life's see-through mist
  where the flesh's lost
  in spored and thistly scent;

and  lakes green-whipped to shore
  may spring
 whole to a young hegelian (waters
  that holy at 24!)

Ugly ghosts behind the eyes, hipshot
   kill sanctuary joys
   for which I mewed

The grey-haired in black, sandals
  dragged up, or alone
live (I find) as plentiful as gristly boys
  I find