I Have Prayed To A Childish God

 

His smile betrays reason,
teeth one and many,
the solace of time in trying.

Back: wet.
Speech: staggered.
I beseech hands that turn white cloth into debt.

Most pregnant with loss,
the collection comes,
birthing an inward tongue.


I commune with small spirits.

Reviews

[Shara Faskowitz]

This is also wonderful! Are you publishing your poetry in journals? You should be if you aren't.