Who would I bother if not my God, each
complaint and spinning holler pointed where?
I’ve tried groveling before birds, beseeched
my laptop’s kernel threads for a better,
less mixed-up world. My wife, yes, she loves me
and is human. Mom and dad similar,
but they first weighted me with piety,
Jesus baggage. I tell my familiars
everything but need to scream my head off
in a Bible cocoon so tightly bound
it passes for love, so sharp it can slough
entire selves. Dimly lit, a shrink once found
I should love myself. Who’d pierce me? I thought.
Who would lure me through depths and not be caught.
Apology for Belief
More: Poetry
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