Sunday, June 26, 2005

a little poetry

I am part; I am whole
wholly pushed, pushing myself, anxious vibration of loneliness take me out of my skin my damned quivering skin
Don’t look at me too closely I beg you, I am not whole. I am not here
I stay undercover where I can imagine you and I elsewhere unbound by anything
the open meadow where I can till and tame and love

You don’t refuse, neither do you indulge
You elusive, you infusing, calling me outside of myself: hating myself, loving myself all at once
my psyche bends from the strain
Ignite the soul you created,
as brave, as offensive, as helpless as you design
I want to be found in you
You who created this small boy, you who take these uncut stones and assemble them into a whole not prefabricated by toy companies
a whole profoundly painfully magically different from the original

and in this space
in this haphazard tapestry I find my fittingness,
my side, my angle, my aspect

Breathe on me. Breathe on us all with that gentle breeze stronger than Satan’s bile,
stronger than the blood on all of our hands
evaporating cleansing
Teach us a thousand new scents

Give us a thousand new names by which to re-create one another
Guide our hands as we fill in the details of your deep, true, terrifying story

You make things
You make things new
God, I hope so because if you aren’t there, if you don’t really make all these dead ones rise again
if the lonely never find your touch
if the beloved waste away from disease and disappear
if the oppressed just get blown up on their way to work
then the blessings don’t balance the curses
a thousand curses brought down upon our own heads

I crawl for sanctuary into a bare, hollow tomb

When will I learn that you don’t have to make anything new?
That healing is a gift and not a right?
When will I learn that everything you make distracts as easily as it inspires?
When will I learn to live you and breathe you?

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