Babbling Bible Babel babble.
I deign to write a prayer.
To confusion.

Alas,
I don't understand.
The words coming out of my mouth.
So I stay silent.
Dance.
Recede into the rhythm.
Of some hypnotic thing.
Ceremonialize my broken thought patterns.

Always finding personal references to myself.
In the words someone wrote for.
Someone else.
But, it always means me.
It's always poignant.
Profound to the demands of right now.

I laugh.
At the catastrophe.
That has become my life.
What holy men are not schiophrenic?
Who among you.
Takes vows of poverty?
Sings to magpies.
Blesses mangy foxes.

And lives.
As a beast.