Monday, April 08, 2013

8/30 Revival

in the church of poet
there are no pews
no tambourines
there are chairs
that have seen better days
a bar-stool or two or more
no pulpit
but music stands
and microphones
truth falls freely
on it's own
wrapped in bowdlerized lies
that look like something
we are running to or away from
heads bowed
praying for blessings
from muses we ignore
when the truth hurts too much
reveals too much
you cannot cover
surgery with band aids
or empty promise
of someday
turned never

I come here often
ears wide
reach within
show me more of something
my only offering these words
confused and hurt
my skin hanging loosely
from bones grown weary
and heavy
when my legs
can't feel themselves
on knees I ask for forgiveness
sometimes they hear
they snap and the flies swarm my eyes
there is everything
and nothing in the moment
that sustains

head bowed
I hope to be strong enough
to hold myself together
keep the bad away
just today
just now
so I can breathe myself
whole again
this heart is too open
and everything buzzes and squeezes
every touch is bad
and my spirit cannot swim
not today
I give you my back
so the blade of you tongue
hits it mark
back handed compliments
and false sentiment
flavored tea steeped in lies
that taste no better
when they are expelled
over mics
or in porecelain toilets
where the water is blue
and I see myself floating
clockwise into no more
then refilled
revived to some degree
and sometimes not at all

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