by M.E. Walker
surely it must come sometime;
not even You can enter time
without marking time.
for a gift, i’m tempted,
like some parable on the fritz,
to pose You the sharper questions:
does Your being brook the plural
or admit a doubt?
and if it doesn’t, then forgive me:
in which Image were we made?
and as for Your majesty, was that somehow
snatched from a gentler host?
why is it that our proofs both shimmer
and insist on a gulf?
be not afraid. i see enough to see
that i’ll be humble enough not to ask
if i act humble enough not to ask.
at any rate, cheers on keeping ahead
of the Emeritus Gods, those wine-
soaked thunderbolts and unbridled
diarists, each specific and sumptuous
as mink–and as culled.
M.E. Walker (he/him) is a queer writer, performer, educator, and lifelong resident of Texas. His poetry has previously been published in One Art and Cathexis Northwest Press. He can be reached at mewalker199@gmail.com, or on Instagram @walkertexaswriter31.
Emerge Literary Journal 