-after Francisco X. Alarcon
i want a god who lives in a tattered shack by the sea
mold growing up its cedar shingles,
a god who offers thunder as applause, who knows
the heart is both a rapturous and feigning preacher,
prone to believing loud praise in the body.
i want a god who longs to be satiated by the knobby
fingers of an ugly woman, taking each one into his mouth,
a god who knows want against his gums,
a god who steps out in the morning
to forgive himself.
i want a god who knows grief, a god with a tiredness
that makes him sink low into his couch, breathless.
i want a god who lifts my feet from this earth
and whispers, you can stop
running.
