Here's why I can't leave Chicago.

Lake Michigan is my o(w)nly site for prayer
July August
my frenzied festival of religious ecstasy
water warm enough to wade into
and let slip
murmured, stored up slights
at night
the edge of the world seeming
the land dropping off
and me far enough out
that I see no one

and the things I speak to the lake
it holds
today I beg
to be strong
not because I have learned not to get hurt
but because I am simply strength
and I apologize
the cigarette smoke the only burnt offering I can produce

long walk there
long walk home
bearing the penance of walking alone in the dark
bearing the heavy looks from those not alone
bearing the lashes of concrete on my bare feet

Lake Michigan holding me
and all my whispered promises
vows dropped in its terrible depths

and if I could I would drink the whole lake down
but the summer storms
have pushed the river beyond its boundaries
and shit has washed up in my temple
my eyes swell with bacteria every time I put my head in
but I can't leave
because the lake knows everything about me