Wet wall
Sound rebounds from the dry wall around,
A wet wall of worship resounds
Absorbing priorities like water to cacti.
Dry mouths and wet eyes don’t dilute my
Scummy spumes, putrid, yearning for purity:
Drilled on our demigod devotion bowed to daily.
We always move standing in one place,
sick n’ pale; faltering in Your face.
Squinting to see, struggling to focus
Through joy and shame frothed sobs of mucus.
Another rock star to sing to be autographing?
No! Your veins splash soap smothering those below bathing.
Pour through the ceiling from the sudsy sky.
Intense terms lie, intense lives testify.
The Face Behind the Font
I hear your words,
I hear you speak as I read them.
I can’t see your face,
But I know you are there.
We talk in endless conversation,
Like two old friends, which by now we have become.
You tell me of people unknown, and
I the same tell you.
on and on in the dark we chat,
Not with our mouths, but with our hands.
the only audible noise is that of a finger on a key.
Not a face to be seen,
But a box on which your words appear.
I can see and hear you say them in my mind,
Knowing a few short days ago we talked face to face.
I heard your words and you heard mine,
I could see your smile and acknowledgement,
And i know in a few short days,
I’ll be able to see the face behind the font again.