My Private Missile Crisis

By | 1 August 2010

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

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