Bottle of Faith
The warmth
of a rum sunset
trickles through my mind
and I worship
that old religion
at the alter
where my mother prayed
for a lifetime
over water spotted vessels
brimmed with unholy sacraments
of sterile blood.
Mouth to mouth repentance
mumbles lip to glass,
lonesome confessions
and desperate rituals
ration what's left of my life;
blessing by blessing,
providence by providence
to feed
my impotent faith
in bottled miracles.
Yet,
no matter how absolute my surrender,
my sacrifice,
no matter how deeply I drown
the immortal victim within
the guilt sobers
and I kneel again.
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