A Clean and Regenerate Poem: Title Poem

I am
unclean once again,
untouchable,
bringing memories
of hidden natural malady
all slithered away.
I know where
it came from
something undeniable
eventually discoverable
and lasting.

To cure me
at this late date
would need a
wash in a soap
that smells like babies.

I wish I could write
a simple poem like the kind
they read in church.
Poems with simple words
"heart," and "soul,"
the kind that
stay written down and chanted.

I wonder
if it's time
for me to go.
It's beckoning harder now,
with all the fear that
cycles on me in waves
as I remember how
erroneous I have been
with only more fear to come.

I am not
a sour puss.
My tear ducts open
just when the sentiment rushes.
I worship.
I just can't write a
clean and simple poem.