Published in the 2014 issue of the Eclectic literary magazine.

I’m naked to the waist.
God is the just the harlot that I left behind
in room 166.
This morning she offered breakfast;
I wanted no part of it.
Last time her grainy grits
tasted like anxiety.

I left my faith
along with yesterday’s clothing
in a pile on her bathroom floor.
I dropped a dollar into her collection plate,
and stumbled out into the road
as blind as a monk
traveling through South America
to save souls.

Now a knot in my chest
burns like a bullet,
and my prayers tremble
like the last surviving rope
of a hanging bridge
above a fatal spring.
The heavy air steals my breath
and for a moment,
I long for that cool, nourishing water.



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