Driving to bible study past Turfway Park
solitary stables line the road
horses fill them—broken—made to go faster
my car smells like cigarettes and sounds like Slayer
and is parked on its own.
A building next to the church is where we gather
once used to house missionaries, it has become our tent of meeting
we are watching a video of Ravi Zacharias talking for 40 minutes
received by heads planted on hands and dormant coughs
listening to him arrive to the conclusion
that homosexuals can't be proper Christians.

Having grown up in Kentucky, this isn't an unusual sentiment to hear
I used to not be gay or a Christian
internalizing homophobia: I told myself I didn't want to be part of their gay little club
internalizing ******: I ignored that which hurt me on a fundamental level
I lived like that for a while
—thinking I'd die like that
but once I could accept one, I could accept the other
—and accept myself.

Talking in circles in this square room
I used to think only bigots spoke like this
but these people have love in their hearts
Ravi Zacharias has love in his heart
they're just trying to guide people to the most direct route to Jesus
...which they say is a straight line.
Our circular saw conversation splits us down the middle
about whether militarism or hedonism caused Rome's downfall
about whether humanity dictates nature or is a part of it
about whether homosexuality is inherently harmful or not
we learn a lot about each other through this process.

Driving home on a winter night
I ponder whether I'm walking Jesus' path—am I living an examined life?
I want to make it about them—who are they to judge me?
But it's more about my relationship with myself and God
I take a half smoked bowl out of my center console and light it up
watching an entire city ride my *** in the rear view mirror
their headlights are blinding
so I turn my mirrors away.

My car wanders while I wonder
where I belong in the icy bluegrass
driving between dichotomies
directing my driveway deviation
finding peace in a portal to presence
noticing how the bare trees shoot up from the ground like
lightning bolts shocking a sky that rebukes their entry with turbulence
the trees do not belong to the sky or the ground—they keep reaching for both
the tips of desperate branches scrape freedom while their roots cling to earth for stability.

The road gets really narrow out where I live
so I drive down the middle of the blacktop
realizing that these are minds I can change
realizing something about acting locally
realizing the extent compartmentalization obfuscates love and hate
realizing the responsibility placed on me to change these people—and let them change me
the road that connects all driveways enters mine as well
as I realize I've finally arrived home.