Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song
Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone
-Kris Kistofferson
curl-up at eight
hope for hibernation
Hope fails
birds sound
obnoxious songs
sun bursts through
holes in the blinds
Nine hours—
God I prayed for
so many more
Peel myself from bed
profanity under my breath
praise far from my lips
hobble to my car
drive a half hour of sports radio
where no love song invades
Black coffee
awkward conversation
greet me at the door
Infants gurgle
spit pacifiers
interrupt adult small talk
Songs start in whispers
the congregation searches
to find well-rested voices
I flex my diaphragm
and learn to sing.
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