08 Mar 98
Prayer
Depite strata of dust upon my Bible,
Each layer marking more time spent away,
Were you to run into me, in a store,
On the street, at some occasion,
I would not ignore your handshake.
Through the tree rings of fat and fear,
That gird my faith and faults,
Past all seven deadlies, on a checklist,
Checked off every day,
You voice is blurred like shortwave radio. Please:
Present me with a giant cosmic Q-tip.
And stick it in my ear.
Each layer marking more time spent away,
Were you to run into me, in a store,
On the street, at some occasion,
I would not ignore your handshake.
Through the tree rings of fat and fear,
That gird my faith and faults,
Past all seven deadlies, on a checklist,
Checked off every day,
You voice is blurred like shortwave radio. Please:
Present me with a giant cosmic Q-tip.
And stick it in my ear.