Psalms

i.

I wander through dark alleys at night.

I pick fights with shadows in moonlight.

Where is the sun?

Every god I see

is made of glass or circuit-boards

mass graves or power cords.

Where are you, God?

When I eat, I hunger for you

because I know your feet are not shod

with the red sewers of genocide

and the golden stars of human pride.

If you still care

please speak the words

I’m still there.

ii.

I woke up falling

first through streaming clouds.

I screamed out loud.

My mouth was dry.

I looked back at the sky.

Forgive me, Lord

but there was no reply.

I looked down while cities became larger

waiting for your voice to say

no more.

You gave me no choice.

I woke up on the floor.

iii.

I watched the sunrise

from the summit’s eyes.

The frost on my jacket

clarified into droplets

when the glare hit it.

The night was cold

but its grip grew old.

My bones were rattled with chills

and my eyes spoke vigils—

praying to see.

Now the day is an infant

and though it cries to me

it brings the joyful siren

of new life.

iv.

I am the creator

of a great tragedy.

See how the words are greater

than I can bear

how the air is dense

with the awareness

of my errors.

I am the conductor

of a choir without accord.

I construct discord.

Hear how my lyrics destruct us

how the best pages are lost

from my capstone opus.

You are the healer

of a world without connection.

Feel how you sew vessels

together across seas

how you wrestle to appease

our thirst for your affection.

v.

This plane is climbing

in a thunderstorm.

I feel like the wings are torn.

Every sky-flicker is finding

myself in greater light.

My face feels like the accumulation

of electricity and adrenaline.

It looks peaceful.

When the doors open

I can see my breath billow in the cold.

I can hear nothing but the thrashing

of high speeds.

It sounds peaceful.

When I jump out

I am sliding across a great membrane

tilting forever away from the door.

It feels peaceful.

Today you are a nylon God

who upholds me.

vi.

I am held by a rhythm.

Like with the sigh of a forest

I am immobilized within

a movement of sound

in

out

in and out

in then out

I breathe like the ocean tides.

Your rhythm is my moon

drawing air from my side.

I have joined a festival of drumming.

It beats a blessed discussion.

I am quickly becoming

an instrument of your percussion.