The New San Francisco Poetry Underground:
Sean Taylor

How to Rob a Bank

You will fumble around with keys like a virgin trying to get laid,
this is why bank keys all look the same.
You will sweat more from your face then you have ever,
and be sure on your way to the bank to pray to the devil,
because god is not in this line of work,
not for robin hood,
not for Nuns betting black in casinos,
it may be their favorite color,
maybe they wear it well,
but do not pray to god to help you rob this bank.

It will however clear up your sinuses, but so would skydiving.
also drink peppermint tea before you leave,
the witnesses will have trouble remembering you
as long as you smell like Christmas.
Put a fake mustache on your forehead,
they will remember that,
scream back at them when they scream,
they will forget who to scream at
and they will only remember the sound of screaming
but you will not hear them scream,
you will see it,
but your goddamn heart is going so loud and so fast you can’t hear anything else.

Then there is the tunnel vision you get,
and you end up grabbing at everything shiny out of routine
like you’re going to heaven with a ski mask on,
but don’t pray to god about it.
I once ran home with a bag of clear push pins
thinking that they were diamonds
I used them to string up my hopes
like a babies carousel,
I hung hundred dollar bills just over my bed and out of my reach,
because that’s what robbing a bank is.
It’s everything in a short period of time just out of reach.
And we don’t get caught because we get greedy,
we get caught because we get lost,
in heaven,
and who wouldn’t,
don’t pray to god though,
pray to the devil because he’s been there too
Oh, he’s been to heaven
and though he’s also not allowed anymore,
he might know his way around better then you.