Where Was He When I Was Sixteen

No almighty hands
parted the clouds,
picked me up
from the carpet
stained with my semen.
The saviour didn’t
calm the storm of tears
that raged down my cheeks,
nor the sea of salt
that squirted
from the furious fist
I had formed into an anus.
Fasting didn’t fix
my blazing wrist
nor my fading faith.

The eye in the sky
watched the streaks
of sweet-water dry
on my belly.
The wind whispered
to the trees, look
through the window,
save the jerking serpent
from his nightly choke-holds.
I prayed for angels
to sing my sin to hell
and forbid Adam
from running naked
in the garden of my mind.

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