One Mode Of Mortal Devotion Poem by William Park

Commence my communion sitting on the cold porcelain toilet.
Flip through the holy book of fiction in search of where I once left.
Rest the elbows on my strong thighs.
Adjust the eyes for the intense reading.
The release of incurred sin flows from the sinful body without notice.
Absorbed by my lesson, by my modus.
Forget where I am.
Divine words enter me as sinful waste exits me- the circle of life.
Soul trapped in a physical, limited, extended feeble machine.
Amen.

I shut the holy fiction and rest it on the floor.
I grab,
It's white, soft, clearly white, wipes the dirty sinful waste.
I am Forgiven.

The Last prayer sounds- flush.
Amen.

I stand, at least try to.
The legs have left me, they have fallen asleep, during
my communion, my lesson, my confession.
I wobble hopelessly.
I try to gain my footings but have lost all control.
I fall, thud, tumble into the tub next to me.
I think, Of God.
In the name of the father, the son, the holy spirit.
Trousers down, legs in the air, on my back.
I laugh at my devotion.
Amen.

(Davis, CA. Fall 2013)