Tuesday, January 29, 2013

After 40 Days of Fasting

I can walk on water
like it’s the gray cobbled path
to paradise and hoping to God
I find there the eventual pleasing
of my father.

I can wish the fog yellow,
the sagebrush green, the water
as warm as the ignorance
of what it means to be his
only begotten.

I can resurrect leaves in trees,
make apples grow red
in the wake of desire
I cannot taste, and watch
white flesh fall into a sweet
brown rot.

I can sweat blood at midnight
and mumble conversations
he says he hears
until torches, kisses
and propitiatory pinpricks
betray the true nature
of his love.



Crack the Spine - issue 53 (page 20)

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