Friday, March 21, 2014

March 21st

-turn your eyes away from me, for-

this Living God that is,
          isn’t stone.

i can place before the idol
delicate displays of meat and fruit-
delectable, seared and sacrificed.
open the awning above,
and bow down before
that graven image of god
and chant the flawless rote
to move
that piece of architecture

-ornate or invisible,
personal or patriotic-
i can dial in all those
correct numbers and fill
in all those puzzle perfect pieces
by the ten percent yield
and expect an increase of

that narcotic to ease
that fat to fill
that distraction of sound
adrenalin, confusion and
loyalty of blood.

All these things each morning
i can be faithful to do
in order to
bring forth
and to hide from and to search out
and to maim that life
that was given.

to place it under stone, but

that Living God that is,
      isn’t stone

and one singular searching glance

silent- still-

can take that divinely beating heart
by storm-

uplift, capsize-
turn fierce and melt away in love.