after carpet suckles my knees
for five minutes
i realize i do not have words to pray—
someone advised just say Jesus
but what if i’m afraid
when i say His name
every demon inside me will bust flesh
like budding flowers leaving root around my ribcage,
me open and eyes exposed to the blackness I let cement my heart—
simply put, i have been my own god—a bad god.
when i prayed to myself,
ears clogged to my needs with dead, mahogany lusts—
i try to swab the blockage away
but only push the filth farther in
and these scales and planks
in the shape of everything
i have stacked above Him
keep my tongue wet.
no fingers dipped in clay can remove these blinders
driven into my eyes like pyramids
8 minutes now—the ground swaddles leg and knee
without a word upward.
convinces me to give up and go my own way
and about the 9th minute?…9th…9th…hour
i cry out with a loud voice, saying,
“Eli, Eli lama sabachthani”
that is to say
My God, My God why hast thou forsaken me?
but who has forsaken whom?
the girl-god spine-cracked into submission—
Eli, Eli lama sabachthani she repeats
My God, My God…
i am earth
You are God, above—The God
come, comet crumbed chest
destroying root and branch
bludgeoning my cove
a hole large enough to carry You
a planned falling out
passionless to where the pieces land
knowing they will be wholly replaced
by the holy God.