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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