Bibles with broken spines
and tattooed with coffee stains
sprawl across cluttered tables.
At certain angles, the stains
form infinity
as the eternal words of God,
pass silent judgment
on your morning routine.
...and you're right,
you haven't sold your soul.
--but you have
cashed out some equity
with an option to buy back.
So, don't look surprised
when you can
no longer pay the interest
and find yourself in default.
(Failing God is easy,
in a language where profit
and prophet sound the same.)
Are you an Angel?
I can no longer tell;
I've been here too long.
She leans in,
kisses my neck
and whispers,
"God may be big
but He gets smaller
the further you fall."
5 comments:
At certain angles, the stains
form infinity
I see it, literally and figuratively. The cycles that overlap, lives that crisscross, depending on where the cup is inadvertently (hmm) placed. ;)
max, i'm so very happy to have stumbled upon this blog, while aimlessly wandering and clicking on links.
your work is sublime - cadence and structure that i never seem to muster! some of it is reminiscent of the works published by celestial arts in the 70's, that is quite timeless.
i will definitely be lurking for a regular fix
Thanks to OnionGirl for showing me the way here. But she often leads me to beauty.
The construct of cash and what we do in order to accumulate. Consume. How we trade meaning for more. What happens when we do. Isn't that something that can take a lifetime or two to unravel.
Excellent, the last line is
def. Truth at the end of a poem.
This is great, profit/prophet
the dichotomy of man
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