I will go fishing
For the Fisher of Men
Cherubs will be my worms.
I will hunt them by the light of truth
After midnights rains
Flush them from the soil.

I will keep them cold
In the rusted coffee can
That is my soul,
And pierce them with sharp logic
Bent just so by faith.

I will play my line with care,
Wriggling and jumping, as if alive,
Until I catch God
By the hunger I have for him.

I will eat Him
Bones and all
Over a hastily built fire,
Washing Him down
With the bitter drink of regret,
Ask him to nourish me
As He has offered to do.