THIS IS A POEM ABOUT CURTAINS OF BAD WEATHER AND SEMANTICS AND THE MISERY OF TEETH 11.16.17

11.16.17

 

Crucifixes,
neon porcelain
aglow through a curtain
of poor weather.

Is it inappropriate
to perform carnal acts
near or inside
the house of God?

What if it is these acts
for which we seek forgiveness?
Or perhaps, semantics. The truth
of our sin is self-destruction.

I’ve beheaded enough relationships
to describe, precisely, the pain
in the teeth
through the grimace

of someone whose heart
is being dismantled.
But my own face remains
a mystery in times of doom.

I would not mind suffering
with a mirror before me,
nor would I prefer it,
nor would I run.

 


Written at 10:26 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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