I know why God is there
When nights blow cool wind
Onto the stringy hair of paupers
And on streetlights along purple roads.

When eyes are dimly lit
By the moonlight’s grace
Under a sky full of magnetic tears,
There is God, and he’s there
To deal out soap bars
And washcloths
To ***** cheeks
So that, for once, dust can go
Back to dust
Without leaving behind bodies
For wolves to feed on.

I know why God is there
When the hungry lie down to die,
When the restless beg for sleep,
When murderers beg for forgiveness,
When beggars dip their hands
Into pools of holy water
On sidewalks of sleepless cities.

I know why God is there,
And the reason is at the end of a long rope
Hidden somewhere deep underground,
Dangling above the fountains of prayers.

Crying for help
Crying.
for help.
Watching myself bend in half.
turning palms to see static.
Screaming whisper, tied tongue, aphtha secret, soot heart;
Godless, but hellish,
summoning dark forces
from within my own temple.
Giving away the life I never asked for.
Writing whoever's will.
Sorrowful hands, crossing t's,
dotting i's, smudging ink,
elongating g's, drawing down
my putrid whatever;
Giving up;
Surrendering;
Getting knocked down,
blow after blow after blow after blow after blow after
punch after kick after bruise after lost teeth after clot;
Losing conscience.
Like falling asleep in silence, no one knows.
Bones to dust,
dust to ashes;
Skin to scales,
scales into thin paper:
and I'm still writing it down,
though my hands are ancient and sore and
i don't want to anymore.
I never wanted it.
Help me out, let these hands retire.
Roll them up in holy water-soaked bandage, bring on the thorny crown, cross my chest and heart, lower my eyelids and lay me to rest.
To Rest;
to embalm this chipped spine, to fill my lungs with salt water,
to unclench my thighs,
unbend my knees, and to kiss my bottom lip goodbye.

Can immortality be found in a cup?
I long to  partake with you.
In your immortality--

You leave as I leave your cup.
             Leave me inside the cup
             Mouth your prayers
             Cover the lid, a boulder, cavernous sun.

Distance measures itself,
As the circle is to your cup,
While I stare, beseeching

At the wind turning you  into dust
Her ritual is done. It is done.
His body-- the body of her son.
The wind lifts her hands to offer you.

                       The sun bares his teeth.

Sipping in your cup, then came an epiphany--
I am who am.
I: the carnivorous sun.

The wisdom of God has always wanted big things to come in small packages.
And like grace in unlikely places,
so is the story of a child.
In us (children), God shares His experiences with Humanity (patience, love, discipline, leadership, etc). Its a practical class.
For In our heart is the possibility of Heaven
And like us are those who live there.
We are the glory of God concealed and it is your honor to find us out.
We are the heritage from the Lord, a weapon of defense,  and a great company for comfort.
The most blessings of any family is hidden in us, by God.
Like an arrow in The hands of the mighty,
the one who shoots us, as directed by God will never miss his target.
We come into your lives, you love us, we grow, we learn, and we love you back.
We are that godly seeds the great husband man searches for.

And still I wonder at the feet of some strange Phantom Other
of all the crucifixes and hymnals I misplaced over all the years
Hands unknowingly raised I found myself in the midst of an embrace I was so firmly braced against
I set myself also against you
But is it odd that I see it hovering over you too?
I hope you feel it too.
And all the mistakes I made I keep quiet in the back of my pocket
To use as reasoning against all the ways I could ever let someone close again
When all I want is for someone to burst in and tell me I was worth it all in the end
Self loathing embedded into me like some cultural progression of an unholy procession of higher self
But all I ever wanted was to be one with myself
Instead of hating my own skin
And still the holy ghost hangs over it all quietly watching and projecting pictures of all the people I'd come to love
Happy in their holy havens safe from everything I feared
Everything I feared that had been hiding in my skin
And the countless Sunday mornings I spent observing others fall out seem so distant now when I'm finding church in my bathroom alone
Safe from sanity safe from my darker self
In this is the only purity I will know
May I never be as the winter snow
And it's taken years for me to write in honesty of all the friends I've lost and of my personal heroes who have fallen
But it will take me many more to portray my 40 days of wandering in the house of the lord
Because 40 became 60 and 60 stretches on until I find my footing again
And know the Phantom Other as friend
And learn to let the light fully in
Because I know that you know that I am not too far gone
I'm just learning to move on.

What is it with some men?
Is this what those nuptials meant?
You are turned into his mother figure,
A holy cow, housework, meals, rigour,
Maybe there's no luck in love,
So much for wedding doves,
"I am not your mother!"  
I wished I yelled at another,
Maybe  I don't know how to train a man,
Maybe a manual should come in a can,
Then you could have twins in tins,
Fully formed, no ***** pins!
Maybe it is the male gender,
They really want a nanny for their benders,
Is this what those nuptials meant?
What is with some men?