Confessional #18

Will.
an outward shove
of

Moral dominance.

I place my hand
on typewritten script;
expunging chaos,
drawing malcontent;

These words of mine,
spanning seas, galaxies.

As God demands,
every single spark
of human intelligence
curbs the silence.

And out in the hollow
of a voiceless night,
the stars bear witness
to the poetry I write.

Confessional #17

Indistinguishable ideologies;
basic core tenets, obsolete signs.

The typewriter
sparks a flurry
of pulse and breath,

If I am a god,
my soul is spent
on paper, and ink.

Everything else,
an erasure of my time.

In this present moment,
keyed up calligraphic horizon;
burning with the flames
of anticipation
for inspiration,
and sleepless, manic mornings.

I am a mother of words.

Confessional #16

Count the whispers
of God, on one hand;
thou shalt know
what to do next.

A broken law,
may be forgiven;
but a shattered
heart, leaves no
room for
understanding
and repentance.

He speaks plainly,
He speaks in puzzles,
He goes West,
He goes East,
His commands
to be observed:

Love God;
love your neighbor as yourself.

These two are the keys to the wisdom of God.

Confessional #15

From the entrance of the tomb,
wherein the body lay;
one figure,

Cerebral
countenance regains
an anagram of God’s refrain.

Count the number
of ideologies ingrained
within this scabby flesh;

Permuted time out of sequence,
out of death I find my meter
and my breath,
and catch a glimpse
of angel dust.

As snow
from Heaven
up above.

Confessional #14

In a post-apocalyptic segue,
between rifts of cataclysmic
orchestral chamber dysfunction
I bleed my violins;

And down in the depths
of a transgressive pit; broken-
heart, plague-boiling, cosmology

Never have I been
so corrupt.
As I am,

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

And vacuum
the dust of my pretentiousness,
wipe away the tears
of my regrets;
purify,
deliver my soul from the trenches of the dead,

Wake me from my slumber.

Confessional #13

All my tools,
and a hunger
in my heart
to self-correct.

Forcing instability;
constructing chaos;
desolating the land of my illusory loves.

I spark to life,
as a bolt of inspiration
surges through me.

As God
reveals to me
my naked exposure;
and how horrendous!

It is.