prayers in exile

by Matty Cash



delivered from the womb of a god that wanted us to rot in the afterbirth, 

we took two of every goodwill angel


small town sinners with big city heavens 

lonely disciples finding someone to worship with


altars built out of tarot cards, churches embezzled with amethyst

hymnals and prayer transformed into phoebe bridgers and poetry



when I fell from grace you convinced me I was flying

used the wood from my crucifixion to build an arch for someone else


I ripped pages out of thrift store bibles 

trying to find a way we could be saved



the serpent of time reveals the sweet apples of nostalgia

filling the wounds of stigmata with zinnias


I still recite devotions for you

even on the seventh day



I offered you forgiveness--

you told me you had found it in someone else

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