Psalm 141

Sometimes I sit in The Church of
Nothingood and let the choir soak

my spirit in terrible lies.
It’s a splendid mess of modern

dissonant, voices – sent to tell
me how to breathe and live out loud.

But I have a friend with a firm
hand, who wounds me when I won’t leave

and loves me more than the people
on the program – still singing false.

Psalm 141

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