When I have a headache
it is in the temples.
I hold my hands over them,
a giant failing to brace earthquakes.
There must be some message
trying to be sent to god:
the ship is sinking;
do you think it’s a mayday?
“(Please) stop praying so hard,
I am trying to sleep”
I say, but the holy places
keep pounding keep pounding.
Who would want to feed
a religion bent on splitting
your brain in half,
disabling any work the next day.
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