Are you there, God?
It’s me, your natural born sinner, completely aware that
I choose to talk to you whenever I feel necessary. Evil; trailing
my tongue down flesh to find a sanctuary, and taste fruit
they say is forbidden. But needless to say, horns and all,
I need you, I love you, and pray for better things —
That this Hell on Earth can be doused and blossoming
flowers replace the sulfur of wasted days. God, please
forgive me when I say I’m angry, because the rage brewing
inside is the result of tubes tied and a non-existent —
Father, I will never become. Mother, crying over the
empty bottle for grandchildren never meant to be.
And this eternal damnation, mundane aching, the soul
longs for blue skies above a loving nest. Two hands
clasped together in prayer, this is the way two people
pray. Sweat, motion and friction, the chemicals between
lovers searching for Heaven. It’s not blasphemy like the
youth pastors warned, although it is instructed by
another man’s deity — rules, dos and don’ts or else
the pearly gates will never open.
God, I hate that you’ve become my grandmother,
frail and alone sitting by the phone. So here we are
talking to one another. Your silence is a pen-drop on
the Vatican floor, while my mind is a sledge hammer
beating an anvil, or an F5 tornado, or a volcano spewing heat.
I pray, “Forgive me for ignoring you, forgive me treating
you like Santa Claus, big beard and magical, and forgive my
vain coping mechanisms.” But the truth is, sometimes even
the Devil needs love. Spine-bent, thin-skin, down on my knees
you stand colossal before me and see a fallen angel.


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I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

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