Captive

These are the tattered strings of deceit.
Braid them into
A rope
And hang my hopes
On them.

I keep skipping rocks
On a river of life
That's apparently "flowing out of me".

But I can't conceive it is made of anything
More
Than crawdads and moss.

Maybe God was only the banks
Of the Tahlequah river.

Father,
I cup my hands to drink.

But the pipes of my kitchen sink flesh
Are turning your miracles to sewage.

Jesus,
You're slipping right through my fingers.