We are all locked together genetically,
I think this must be some form of tribulation,
For each promise seemed to render another
And the pulse of blood is felt glutinous
Upon the brow of the thought
And it’s taut, sunlet antithesis:
Do not forgive me father, for I have not sinned.
So I made all the people listen motionless,
Notice the evangelical fundamentalist
Choking on his own disgust,
I awaited his departure keenly,
But then perhaps we are all susceptible to this.
Yet it skulks, still, in shady temples in various disguises
And once I had yearned for its blind, blanket catharsis,
I could have bathed in it once.
Imagine my relief when I saw that this wasn’t spirituality
At all, but just more mental agriculture.
So my thoughts stare onto paper missionless,
Sometimes this seems symptomatic
Of a cloistered madness,
Sometimes it is very poetic,
And sometimes I feel like I am just killing time.
My thoughts break up the night like bread –
If sometimes this is a moment of religion
Then this must be my devotion,
And if there is any misunderstanding
Then this is the reprieve.
Comments
animan | April 7, 2008 - 22:57
This is a big poem in its range and dare. It's got some great lines, e.g. ' My thoughts break up the night like bread' – it's such a great line that, if it were me, I think I'd want to start the poem with that - that's one of those lines that I don't/can't understand head-on at first but have to let play over/around me and I like that and I want the poem to give me time to do that, to do that in the back of my mind, so that the poem is giving me a double-line as I read, like a song with 2 singers with separate lines, a two-part invention. If I have a concern, it is that I wonder if you might let the meaning and the narrative through a bit more in places, as you don't need to worry about the poetic side of things as you have that in spades.