My Lent

Betrayed by the promises of flesh
My own thoughts are the garrote
Wrapped tightly against skin–
of naked neck and folded fingers
Angry blood on bitter hands

I give in at times
To nimble, narcotic blue
I desire even
Swine-gnawed pearls
Anything at all, fallen
From slobbering snouts, sodden


I have two hands to sever
Lest I steal anything from you
Cut my lying tongue from my mouth
So I speak no other Name
Pluck lustful eyes from their place of rest
I will only look on you in newly blind fear
If I lost my legs at the knee
(Amputation is a sharp, decisive mercy)
I could not help but kneel
But you know better
As if the darkness were fully contained
In these twelve baskets of an ancient meal
How do I cut off or pluck out my own dark heart?


Tuesday in Holy Week

God forbid that I should glory: save in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Almighty and everlasting God, grant us grace so to pass through this holy time of our Lord’s Passion that we may obtain the pardon of our sins; through the same Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.