“Psalm 51”

Mercy, O God, bring it on!

Supersize your compassion

and spring me from this dead-end

job above the scalding fat

of my soul that fries greasy

everything that enters.

 

I'm wise to my lies.

My dirt is too much on my mind.

I've put the boots to you

in the groin, Lord, in the groin,

and when I thought I had you down

I kept on kicking

sick to death of my own brutality.

 

I've been running with the wrong crowd

since the night I was sparked in my

mother's womb

just me and my shadow

who tries to throw me

as much as I cast it.

 

Hose me off, and I'll take a shining

to your light

Weld up my busted bones

with blinding arcs of your cosmic torch.

Swab my deck

like a strong, happy sailor.

 

Create in me a clean heart, O Lord,

and renew a right spirit within me.

Don't show me the door

or lay off your spirit.

Get a good return on

your saving power and reinvest it in me.

 

Then I'll stick my neck out

amidst a crowd calcified

by years of slow-boil apathy.

Shrink my heavy hoof

and my foot will print the earth more

softly

 

Open my lips, Lord,

and my mouth shall laugh like a child

with sound attachments to a secure love

that promotes healthy risks.

 

You prefer the peel of bells

to loud handwringing.

Guilt is a pretty lousy show

of gratitude.

A humble, cooperative heart,

a soul skilled in sharing,

these, O God, are a few of your favorite

things.

 

Scale back the extremities of weather.

Help us keep the carbon in the ground.

Then you will delight in our liturgies,

our Sunday best when the rest

of the week takes time

to dress a little finer.