My private missile crisis

Ignition falters once

Twice miss the mark by seconds.
Tack my womb to the cross,

Empty my egg baskets,

Soon I will not need them.
A pig with a solid gold nose ring,

Jesus, bless me with your humility

My snout is itching.
Humiliation becomes me

Since before birth,

I’ve picked my nose with a crucifix
Lord lays down his punishment

And now my faulty rocket can’t

Get off the ground
I’ll pay for it in spades,

Repent my nose-picking sins,

Bear this propeller
Splintery lips fire

Static sparks into my body

Still I stall the stuttering engine
Here the Kings of Israel sat

To judge their people

Quivering nights await
It eludes me,

Like mucus on the corner of my iris

I can’t focus on
The mechanic says my engine

Is easily fixed

Soon, he tells me
How certain your promise is,

Of combustive exaltation,

Til my grave ices over
My private missile crisis,

Ignition falters three times,

Mark the miss by years