Saviour Breath

Prayer, that old act of desperate solipsism,
You try to gussy up as love or compassion
Or altruism—mysterious Samaritan stranger—
But just under the thinly applied paint
The grimy seams are streaks of shadow
Tracing an abrasive wish for entitlement;
A pretense that a few words muttered or wailed
Daily change the foundations of the universe.
Save your knees and your breath. Save your
Forehead its years of arrogant abasement.
Strip the worn beads from their frayed strings
And turn your rosaries into abacuses.
Count on this: the speed of light escaping
The increasing density of the sun.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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One Response to Saviour Breath

  1. Vicky says:

    You write eloquently of our quixotic and janusian America—an America that "is not the same nation that looked up to the sky in September or December."Some of us Americans gaze into the mirror of our American mythos and see "America, the Beautiful," and some of us envision an "America, the Hegemon." Both of us are two-faced, I suppose; but we've reached the point where we're both so utterly wrong-headed in each others eyes that it might make more sense to call our nation &qtud;uwo-headet&qoot;.

Mumble back at me

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