Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Restlessness
A bed frame with a missing leg propped up with old, unwanted books,
Kitschy pop theology books, free paperbacks from a religious childhood,
All Jesus and blood and contemporary exclusivism,
All stacked below a short metal rod, slowly carving its way through the pages,
A couple pages more with each movement above.
Every restless sleep, every nighttime visitor,
Another dent to the dogma,
A slow crucifixion I neither command nor stop.

This is my place of rest.
This is where I dream of heaven.
I feel no god behind my back at night.

If my nights have skewered a god,
Then prayers are weaker than dreams.