DESIRE

praying is a skill
learned
by diligent
practice

these days
i only pray
under the dome
of clear blue skies
lest my prayers
get stuck
on the ceiling
above my bed
and linger there,
unheard

even now
at least a thousand
molded prayers
hang there,
stalactites dangling
amid the dust
and cobwebs
of an old man's room

a bottleneck
of stale
yellowed
useless
prayers

so many
bear your name,
still barely legible,
scrawled
in the heat of desire

one day, i swear,
i'm going to paint over
that shit