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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