But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
i feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought

with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. i wish i had
a joint. a big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. but no, all i
can do is lie here, brain
turning summersaults.
it’s nights

these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
the night he came to
me, crossed
the final line.

must be nice to have that kind
of unshakable belief
in  a merciful higher power.

i believe in a higher power,
but you can’t call
it merciful. no, not at all.

it’s the power of my father, all
will and rules and law,
and governed himself by

Deadly sins, chief among them
avarice and lust.
the only two that don’t apply

are sloth and gluttony. that last
one i lay claim to, and
before i go to work, i plan on

giving into it wholeheartedly.
Gluttony interrupted
leads to Gluttony, with a capital G.

i seriously despise the man, would do just
about anything not to obey him, at
least if i thought i could get
away with it or even that
the sure consequences
would be sufferable.
but when daddy
decides to make
you suffer,
it’s more
than any-
one can
bear.