Lost in your catacombs, I’ve uncovered
the dank walls of effaced fishes. Branded
by the infidels above, I’ll never
leave the ensconcing darkness. I’m stranded—
here, lukewarm and famishing for real food,
the kind that Origin, that Eunuch, says
will hoist my shackled soul out of the brute
prison of my body. Here, dark are my days,
but what slight light there is, is oh so bright.
I’ve befriended forgotten patriarchs,
(those modest moles who’ve found peace in your night) .
I’ve shed my last aesthetic tears and parts,
accepted the mercy of my sentence,
and would truly believe, in you, if not
for my ineffectual prayers. Silence
is all I hear, my fabulous dear God.