Godless Sun


I fell apart near an old cross in South Georgia. 
Behind picketing lines and white lined fencing, 
I chose to drive clear by the division of opinion. 
Below my steering wheel were my keys, 
one for the Ford, and the other for my yard lock. 
I pull into the gravel and twist the keys. 
Opening my door, I press forward. 
I unlock the door and pin together my steps. 
Two boards in a high crossing shape.  
I fall to my knees and beg to collect.  
Something about unjustly begging, 
I was scolded from my knees to my tongue, 
I could not speak. 
Go hunting for the word of God 
and you come out a sinner of sours slung. 
Fallen apart from a sin of lost vision. 
No God in my line of sight. 


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