I am not my own

Release the grip; drop the pen.
The crawl instead of the climb.
A picnic invaded by ants--
be carried, be swallowed whole.

one mile to Jericho

The goodnight;
break of day rubble pinched
between teeth and toes-- rubbed
out, the evening erase.
The six day march
to rest at one-- the blast of
trumpet to bring down walls--
the fortified city skin.
One mile to Jericho--
the relief from 9-5.

Beneath the Vatican

I once had sex with a priest on a pool table. The red, yellow, orange balls kept getting caught under the arch of my back, the backs of my knees. He gashed his head on the dangling green lamp-- a strip of blood down the side of his ear. I stopped kissing his priestly collar.
"No, my child, please continue."
My dress unzipped, I'm not sure how, perhaps it was God.

Before the affair

Before the affair comes
the look-- the drag of eye
across the room, up the face,
over the lips-- the pierce of
possibility under wraps.
Before touch come thoughts--
pitched like tents in mind fields;
escaping like convicts
squeezing through floor cracks.
Before the bed comes
the talk-- not dirty, but clean--
tonguing one word at a time,
filling holes with such sweet dirt.
Before the affair comes
the resolution, "I would never".

This is real-- although I do not know how

They think I invented this--
to have a friend, to feel safe
in the dark. When I talk about
You they nod and humor, thinking
it the same as a child speaks of ghosts.
I cannot explain Your coming
and going; the way You speak and
than You don't. I do not understand
Your new morning mercies,
or the way Your breath leaves no
fog on glass.

Jesus is a lion

He comes from a long
line of sinners: kings with
wandering eyes, brothers
who rape sisters-- they leave
Him to tell the truth.
He was at Jericho's wall,
at the splitting sea of red--
disquised as the trumpet
blast, the wooden staff.
He tears through me-- severing
rotten from ripe, dead
from alive.

People are hit or miss

The bag blowing across the road
didn't signify freedom; you must
have caught this in my eye.

The wedding band didn't keep
you under lock and key, but it
should have. Sunrise comes
slowly when you're sinning.

I confess an attachment. While
you're sleeping with your wife
I'm awake in a twin sized bed.

I could love a woman

gentle, not baby,
but the careful way one
polishes silver. Fork, knife,
spoon with her. In the bathroom,
I'd watch as she lotioned her face--
paying extra care around the eyes.
I'd brush my teeth and spit when
she was looking. When we'd watch tv,
I'd play with her nipples-- pinch,
not so it hurt, but 'til it felt good.
We'd have no need of Romeo;
no use for his sonnets or balcony
climbing. We'd speak poetry over
breakfast and know that the other is,
not compared to, the sun.