Читать книгу Psalms for the Poor - Kent Gramm - Страница 8

Lord, how are they increased that trouble me!

We don’t believe in demons any more,

but disbelief was never a deterrent

to invisibles. Specters are stronger

than I am. Modesty forbids mention

of whom and what I have antagonized

by mere existence, but a wet dragon

the size of Manhattan licks my brain

in his sleep. The Lord does not let him wake.

A tapeworm wants me and I can’t prevent him.

He came wrapped in glass – Satan sent him.

He is real, but God will not invent him.

I sow and knead and shape my waking bread:

the consequences drink my dreams like blood.

I will lie with the dead. I will see God.