how long, oh Lord
(seizure during mass)

winter noon
brilliance without warmth

cold on a cavity or a shot
     of whiskey -- how empty
     this pain, how long
     oh
Lord
     this gut-shot cold

the last candle lit
advent and the congregation sings

rejoice

no praise
in my mouth

(a rough noise & people turning)

I am thinned like terebinth
tear
like paper

***
Psalm 6
Isaiah 6

2 Comments

Owen said:

I am instantly ‘there’.

I am glad the blog is back. Been emailing as well. God bless. Write.

thrive!, O

Erin said:

There?

I had more or less decided to discard this as nothing but self-pity. Which is legit as an emotion, but makes for a bad poem.

On reading it again I think it could be cut back and might be salvagable.