Today I walk into a church
and God loses a garden of teeth.
I am reptilian. I forget to pray again,
allegedly. The choir never stops singing.
Believe me, I am afraid of worms.
You can ask my grandfather
but he is dead. I left the dog
in the veterinary surgeon’s office for three weeks.
I know desire when skinned clean
of its feathers. Growth can only bury time,
not memory. Once Grandpa said God is greater
than us all that’s why he is invisible.
I have not seen death. But I carried
Grandpa’s lifeless body to the morgue.
How the dead gathers more weight
remains a mystery, all shield and armour?
I do not believe in the science
of desire. A lover’s boundless iniquity
made me stay hungry for days.
Forgive me. The moon is charcoal-dark.
I want to anger God. I want Him to drag me
by hair, or by throat, or by the little body
I have forgotten how little to the Place
of Judgement. I want Him to ask what burns
inside this body I am so eager to get rid of.
It’s always the numbers, the fucking numbers
of dead people fucking around
inside my fucking soul.
I want to grow so heavy. So heavy
nobody can carry me to the morgue.
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