Tell
Me Your Secrets, Gawd
Gawd, tell me the secrets that are
tucked into your flowy tunic
The number of dots on a Ritz
cracker and why my phone calls
Unusual people and the wretched
visit knocking when I tuck in?
How too I am losing charge--charge
it’s called, credit--how I owe
The more I give, and why the
door slams and how television
Stole my soul, steals my sons’
souls, sits there silently, blank
Gawd, answer me this, magic beggar,
destroyer Shiva, where
Do I go when I leave the house every
morning with my bag
Of cures and scents to give
credit and scores at the shrine?
Gawd, tell me the secrets snarled
into your beard of time
Blank Gawd, how you torment the
children with your shiny bells
How their prayers fail, when
they lay ashake in their sheets
Apiss on so much black ink on
the last pages of your firey tracts
Dear Gawd,
aloof with your autoharp and choirs of deadmen
Tell
me the secrets cupped snug in your many impish hands
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