God, I feel myself swallowing the
putrid lukewarm morning ale
The lament of a pleonastic letter
whisked off like a bottle off deck
Registering the falseness of ever
bearing the reciprocation of discourse
The words have always been sloshing
worms in fallow dirt
Wriggling prayers like Mayan rain
dancers
Droplets of faith parch in my tears
That this silence might ever
surprise me shattering the Catholic standard
That one must discard all specified
hopes
For whatever the Scottish wish is
rewritten to fit the whim of the Lord
Through the mainland of those
bigger, brought to together in the first
Of those allowed dreaming past
oceans of self-admonishment
For wanting any peaceful grace is to
obliterate its presence
One must abstain from spiritual eye
contact with all desires
For whatever, whomever, whenever,
wherever one wishes
Is blasphemy to the raw insecure
magnanimity of the Lord
To know better so in it could never
be her
To pray with clarified images is to
watch the solidity of love dissipate
For if one thing God has taught me,
want not, dream not, hope not
Be thankful for the isolation,
grateful for the hunger of the nothingness
To feel love so in proximity is but
a reminder of the absence
To push one further into the
universe’s cackling indifference
The meandered human rationale
inserting ego into the void
Like a penny fountain of nebula and
quasars pounding on anvils
To spark the irony of dreams
To have no more words to write
This is heartache
Visited every thought into the
bottle cast
Knowing the profanity of the mute
retort
Empty damn empty parched numb
Waiting on a miracle that my spirit
was not meandering comfort
Truth floats like a mist in her
thoughts of my essential position or irrelevance
As I cry for daylight at the thought
of facing the oblivion once more
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