March 26, 2009

My tongue aggrandizes
academically, that is to say
I don't love You. I say
I do, I'm covenanted to
what I've said. You know
that promise is deliverance,
for in times lacking touch
I've lusted for our violence,
a toothless tearing of flesh;
a rationalism You'd hate and I would regret.

Perhaps in refusing our separation,
I've instead divorced my heart
from my head.

A creed to come back to,
a serpent bronzed, a representation
of inauguration; something solid to
repent into. A cup that is deep enough
to hold blood for my contrition
to dissolve in, a body that is strong
to be lifted up, once for my sin,
and then once again.

What tragic beauty, arabian jujube
pressed in scarlet curls,
perspiration falling on the neck of
Your heaving back, eyes falling to
the dust of the ground.
You felt as I do now. A separation
what ran through You and what You said.
But unity was stronger, still is,
than that which splinters our skin.

March 19, 2009

Simple finger sketches, pushes the dirt of a hushed garden;
soundless repose, footsteps slow over fleshy grasses.
Pine needles and clay bricks seal this box from the parking lot,
in turn protected by a chain-link fence from trains that pass.

The spring wind blows inconsistently, yowling through the pine trees;
snowflakes have migrated north again, oaks and maple stand bare yet,
and who will be moved into dance? Certainly not the hairs that hide
behind bricks or temporary houses, in cement, permanently set.

Which is life, reality or the way it is supposed to be? The rain
in gutters or as it imbues the darkening stubble on my face
with texture within a texture, a spreading essence in the contours;
God in the storms or in the walls built for mute escape?

March 5, 2009

Job 19

i purposefully trashed
my basement today,
bagged up my needless things
to take to those in need.
In the midst of my ascetic
task of worship, alone
with the sapless taste of
half-used cans of brick-toned paint;
in the simplicity of making less,
i uncovered a blank canvas.
Stored recklessly on basement floors because
times of organization induce belief,
i can envision shape and color
and reproduce without practice or technique.
In one of these harmonized manic states,
my grandmother gifted me a 1 by 3 foot
quadrilateral of opportunity. i covered it
with suitcases, boxes of clothes, baby
accessories, dictionaries, and all
the candles we'll sometimes need.
i have found it is difficult to decide
what to create in permanency.