prayer

you
bastard
hear me

you
who never bends this beam
enough to break it
only warping it
enough to make it
useless to anyone else

somehow
you must find the curve
of this discard
of some interest
considering how often
you weigh it down

you must be a gambler
the way you make book
on this timber holding
fast

how you must love the lines
that can be traced along the shape
of its stress

and that’s it
isn’t it
it’s not about the wood
is it
it’s all about you
isn’t it

well then
load it on
you
son of hell
you fat august reverend
assclown
add another pound
hundredweight
ton

we both know
it’s gonna go
someday
but heaven be damned
if it breaks
until it’s bent almost
over
on itself

until a pencil
dragged against
its boundaries
describes
a divine
trajectory