Dear God, I am Poor and Restless
And I will beat him with my fists like a dog;
Dig with my fingernails at his eyeballs.
This will be sweet relief.
This will be the end of me.
We men, we are sickening.
I will maintain my birthright;
Sleep soundly with pleasant dreams—
I do not question my motives.
The grass grows tall like a child.
The hills roll like hills.
Even I remember Eden,
Thought I know my father’s sins.
