[The day my gods died] The day my gods died I was afraid they would take me with them. I turned from prophets to poets, and my church became a coffee shop named after a saint. I went from right to wrong, and all the wrongs became questions, not sentences. There’s a ball of ants at my feet, pulling some leftovers toward a hole too small to permit it entrance but they’ll keep at it until dusk. And I’ll keep pushing these things until the lights go out or a bird shows up.
Jason Gabbert participates with words (those things that stir and explore the vast range of what it is to “be”) with simple sentences.
Amethyst Review 
Here is another poem that needed a few readings. The last line surprised me with its ambiguity. Is the poet resigned or hopeful? Is he talking about death or revelation? I love the spareness of the language, so simple and down to earth. Thankyou for yet another arresting poem. – Jane
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