04/03/20 In Place of Something Like a Prayer

Is this a test?

I hated tests.

A strict warden’s

manipulation,

a one eye

presumption of

failure

while the other

quivers with panic.

I didn’t need you to test me.

I needed you to reach out,

hold me

with a mother’s everything

and teach me how to pray regardless of the song.

But look now,

this menagerie

is built out of scales,

hard, slithery,

in-agreeable.

There are systems

that have spun out of our control

and look like gods now,

and you want me to worship?

I don’t believe in a teacher of rigid constitutions,

punishment,

and calculated expectations,

even if your song is popular.

If I will offer anything,

it will be my confusion,

the congress of all these gods

debating inside me;

love, through the fire;

the fear of a foolish boy,

who keeps going on;

regret,

faith,

and surrender; and always,

always,

one more step

past the plan.

If there is an altar,

it’s all of you,

too big to get anything, ever, completely accurate,

sitting there alone

in your pods,

chewing on ramen

by an undecided fire,

and I will place there

everything

left unsaid.

And you will call me strange,

foolish even,

the son of the weaker thunderbolt,

too vulnerable,

but what’s the use of hoarding anything

in this mess?

One way

or another,

we’re all worth the title of beautiful