Dear God--Death Seems So Final

you know, god, when we talk
you seem alive but my psychiatrist
insists, yes, insists,
that I'm only talking to myself,
in my own head, and you're too big
to worry about if
I get a new job or sell a poem.

but I counter with logic:
if you don't answer my prayers,
that just proves you're busy elsewhere, right?

right? right? right?
hey! why don't you answer?

but, god, when I see dead bodies
or white bones on TV or
even a smashed spider

it's hard
to see how, you know, how
we're gonna make a come back some
day, and get all our skin back--


but, listen, I'm not doubting here,
don't zap me now, I'm just...
perplexed, you know, like Mother Theresa....she was confused too,
they say, in her last years, so...
listen up! I'm desperate too!