A fraud. That is the label that I exfoliate from my skin each morning
peeling blood and fat with epidermis that flowers and litters the shower block
before I sit creaming.
Dawn has hardly broken, but I feel your wind striking my chin as I cycle with broken chains to something
that really is a glorified lake, narrow, and slippery, like my promises of authenticity.
I can rise to ride, but to read your Word and listen to your distant voice
which booms in the cracks and shadows – I have not the strength.
Do you despise me? Grow angry or annoyed?
Or are you patiently waiting for me to hear you within the void
of my deep and gluttonous slumber?
Psalm 119 vs 148-9: ” My eyes are awake before the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promise. “