Tuesday, June 06, 2006

"I don't need god"

She said it with a sharpness. Go away, Jews for Jesus. Was it the Morman's who asked me if I knew that God loves me? Or the Christians? My tears came bubbling up in the corners of my eyes because why? Love. Love this racing, stoned heart? Be next door, next hip, next to it.
I'm too aware of the construction. Let's go to the expectation cemetery. She doesn't need him? When the dirty grave is calling? All day long you wait. Blue and blaming the ruts and dips. I see you boys and girls up on the roof, I'm left singing. Record players make me feel more in touch, sexed. Nothing new.
Cut it out--like fat lines in a slapping, red steak, be timid against your longing, imagining until tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Now that makes me achingly angry, most especially stuck. I fell in love at 13 on a driveway seeing prickling stars. Having sex with angels is how the homosexuals with AIDS will be redeemed, Tony? It's always sex we deserve. "You're nobody till somebody loves you." What is being said? If my eyes are down focusing on the closest thing-- staring at it as if on tiny text in a newspaper--it could be you next to me. It could be that imminent. My heart starts to heartily beat. I hide behind sheaths of hair. Pin my eyes down to let the possibility stew till nearly burning. Let my chest naw at the stone of temptation. Finally enough, I look up to my expected illusion. Clog up the void.
She said, "I don't need God."

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