You spoke of your passion
All twisted tangled with flesh
Of glorious intimacies that haunt me
Vacancy cast forth
In a cold presence
Sitting there; blinking color reflecting
Refracting through the fragmented remorse
In a cab; some lustful act took place
Remote and unlikely
If not for your stories
Silencing my voice
Like a fist to the gut
And I wonder what’s wrong with me?
What sin did I commit?
That I have no story to tell
© 2007 Tad Monroe. This poem may not be reprinted without permission from the author.
Tad Monroe
a portly pastor poet in Tacoma, Washington
co-founder and director of City of Destiny Faith and Film series
takes comfort in the fact that The Dude abides...
12 year old scotch or PBR, both acceptable and enjoyable
