Hunger

It’s hard to appease; and the light flickers; and sudden pain,

A deep war; and sudden cries, my deepest Christ. I ponder

A young lad: he spoke of dreams; and buffered cobras. I

Drift: and so much to rise: the mire recruits; and torn souls,

Grope clouds. I grip rain; and culture faith; and so deep, my

Living Spirit. We nurture wounds; and plead the Father;

And death nearly swallowed me. So many tears: begging

Forgiveness; and so many deaths: falling apart. I rise; a

Punctured villain; and such baptism: mother’s eyes; and

Such repentance: father’s soul. Excuse such fever: I’m dying

Soft; and living gloss; and so much to give, my deepest

Christ. My eyes: Jerusalem: My heart: Zion; and David’s

Wounds, bleed the city; and prophet tears, bleed the soul.

Excuse such fever: I’m dying soft.