i'll never be a poet

leave room for the divine to move

i know You're there.

You can see me
but i don't act like i care

You watch me
writhe in mud

come here, come now

i know You're here

You're always here.

can't You puppet me to do good?
i don't want to be responsible
i wash my hands in a caesarian basin
the water turns to ink and
my hands like wet soot
the ash rubbed into the pores of the wrinkles of my palms.

i will kiss Your feet
five times a day, a week
and i stand under crimson shower
from Your rib.

a golden yolk floats  above the sea
painting the world in pink watercolour
glistening tears stream and clear
a path down my bloody cheeks.
i swing my arms forward
to embrace the sun

the footprints in the sand
on my garden-island
stamp out a circle
a twenty-year old beaten path.