Poem: Tempted

 

Tempted

 

vultures turn in a blue keyhole

above the taut steeple of

my needy fingers.

 

lips of lava, blurry within stone,

chew on my prayers

and the tremble of my knees,

 

and they refuse to sponsor

the delusion that they harbor bread,

or any power or wish,

 

should i chance to fall, head down,

like the bill of a ibis

seeking wisdom in supplication.

 

i would instead

crash to mangle the frail platter

of my flesh,

 

offering a feast that would unlock

all of god’s miracles and mysteries,

exposing them

 

for what they are,

what they were,

and will always be--

 

a vanity of bones.

 

 

 

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