Kyrie

After G.K.

If head of humor, heart of pain
define, my friend, our sanity,
permit me likewise to maintain
a frustrating humanity:

These fingertips of paltry prayer
must underwhelm the ears of God;
each worry too must slime its way
in muddied murmurings of sod.

And I am apt to add the words
that cloud intention, harden shame—
clause on clause, with nothing sure
or true or sharp but Jesus' name.

Something from the detritus folder. It’s been a long, hard year, but I am hoping to start again. With love to you all, Tullius.