tell me where you found God
I don't want the name of some church you went to
I want a detailed story of a brilliant burst of light
or that time you heard a voice in the dark
I want to know your details
I am fascinated with man
and higher beings
and the fact that it has to be real if I see it
if I believe it
tell me where you found Angels
doesn't matter if it was in a hospital room
or a highway
did you feel hands on your shoulders?
think in lights
and see in patterns
I want to know where you found safety
I found mine in a low voice telling me that the angels
were real
and how tragic it is to not believe in anything
and to also believe in everything

I was late to school once
reading a story about a heroine addict
who found the closest thing to God
in a little girl
talking to a wall
I thought about it
for so long

I missed 7 am

I want to miss 8 am
or 9 am
thinking about your story
of how you found
safety
finally
tell me,
where did you find God?

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
I want to scream loud enough to break the glass surrounding you
I'm looking down from above
watching your lights flicker
on
and
off
as you open and shut your eyes
automated movements
searching…
searching…
searching…
error
drunk on influence
lies dripping from your mouth
you are automaton
repetitive movements
tapping thumbs
looking down from above
just like I am

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
if I was to push you in front of a car would you even take notice?
or look in a daze
it is a tragedy to be just "fine"
I want to be terrible
I want to be wonderful
I refuse to be anything in between
fine is not enough
you are not enough
stop walking in circles like they tell you to
if you have to keep walking walk in a square
hell,
go for a triangle

cease and desist in your clockwork ways
you are not cogs
or coils
or gears
or tiny ticks
you are bones
and light
and energy
and blood
and skin
and I could go on forever
you get the idea
so start acting like it
if I am a lightbulb let me be the difference between a prison and a blank slate
trapped in misery
trying our hardest to express
audio visually
the tiny flutters in our hearts
because it's the first time we've felt something

if laying on a couch validates your existence
lay the hell out of that couch
until you can't feel your back or your legs
but **** you're so alive and well
and if laying on a couch doesn't
then what are you doing?
stop walking
start running
validate your existence by breaking out of boxes
running towards the sun
if you need a reminder:
you are alive
and you should start acting like it

cease and desist in your clockwork ways,
human

The world will not stop
spinning for me,
not ever.
The birds will not be
mute for me,
not a chance.

The only thing that will
stop for me
is a heartbeat--
for I am too
small of an amazement
for the traffic,
the rain.

Though, I do not
expect the world to
cease in the moment of
my passing,
my mysterious disappearance.
(an empty body,
an empty shell).

Being a part of this
world means being
disposable.

Knowing you means that
I wish I could love you more,
perhaps differently.

Knowing you means that
I will finally know loss.

I will not cease to pause for you.

Is it you--
are you the rain
that my children
dance in?
Are you the
harvester of long
grains and seeds
that the lone bird
feeds on?

To know you
is to know for an
eternity.
It is you,
the hand of death,
the whisperer of
rustling motions,
who knows of both
the grandest scope
and of who I am
in my smallest ways.

"you only hug me in airports" was the last thing I heard her say
as she opened her arms
to her eldest daughter
and I was nothing short of amazed
when they walked into each others arms
I saw her close her eyes
if only for a second
drinking the moment through her pores
as if the rest of us were invisible
even to the night
that moment seemed to stretch
to morph
to erase years of pain
and close the gap of months
in a single step

together

I wonder if she heard the screaming in her ears
or the sound of glass breaking
the rain on her face
the night that she slammed the door on that same little girl
now an adult
but still small enough to fit between arms
I'll never know what happened between them
but I imagine it like lightning
hitting their chests in a terrifyingly beautiful fashion
and I was waiting for her daughter
to cry out
"no, you only hug me in airports"
and I'm not sure
if they will ever see each other
again
I wonder if they're happy
or simply

content

God.

God is the shapes
on my ceiling.
He is the sliver of light
filtered through my window.

God is the thirty-inch space
between roof & fallen branch.
He is the kiss of dew drops
& the breeze on my neck.

God is the flame
of discipline.
He is the declaration
of saddened exile.

God is goosebumps
that proclaim "I hear you!"
He is the rise &
the fall of empires.

God is the sky
which engulfs all
in loving despair.

"I love you."
those three sweet
meaningless words
always find their way into my head
and roll around like they're stuck
in a box
moving from house to house
never really finding a place
to call "home"

and i wish i could get the idea of you
and those three words out of my mind
but you’re stuck there
as much as we both hate it
and each other

day after day
you’re still there
in my veins
in my bloodstream
my pulse spells out your name

I haven’t washed you from my sheets
out of fear that my body
will miss your slight touch
or out of fear that
I may be forgetting you
and I don’t want to
but I need to

and if you look closely enough
to the scars on my arms
they tell a story
in chronological order
of how I fell in
and out
of love
with you

(a.k.)