i remember back when i craved the sunken eyes of the altar

back when flaming arrows were pointed out into the darkness and not at my own knees

i craved the hugs from old men and women in the pews, alive or dead

today i’m beginning to wonder if they’re listening to what the preacher says and doesn’t say anymore

is their desire for companionship so full? so contemporary?
so completely saturated in god-written grease that’s too slick to catch
 

they always said, “my cup runneth over”

i guess i’m just tired of having to be the one mopping it back up again.