Alice, I am.

trapped
and i want out the kennel
my master
put me in.

whimpering, whining--  letting distress be known
only goads my master,
shooting sharp eyes and shouts of, "stop crying!"

glass pane door between--
cold, transparent-- I can see, but he remains out of reach
when he does not wish to sit with me.

but other times he begs, "up up!"
"Kisses!"
and gives hugs, love, play;
provides my needs even when hinders or hurts him, but--

often time
tiny hurts
throw me out

until
he decides
he needs me and wants me
back

next to him.
                       I comply.

softly selfish

i pretend
just in this moment suspended
that everything is fine.

curpusculars, warm winds,
and Ivory
of piano keys

make me believe
that every child's tum
is a full,
and round
as mine.

that the sirens of hospitals across the way
have ceased
not just for now
for how long this moment lasts

and delusion
is that it will last forever,

for forever is moment-- it exsits only in our mind,
as does this beauty,
a capturing of rays spilled from a slowly dimming star
as does these words echoing out chapped lips,
only gargled noise,
reverberations whisper to you who are far,
"I love you," as though you are near

as i believe
in my figment
in my mind
in my heart.

I will take a selfish moment
to believe that all is well.

that parents do not scream,
for sound is too soft here, in this moment
that men do not die hungry,
for it is to robust here.

but pretending fades as notes flicker out,
snuffed as delicate smoke

and moments
fade gray.

still,
clouds gleam and babes breathe.
still,
silence washes ovr'this place,
my bosom;
my heart;
my soul, if that is the phrase we wish to use.

I must keep selfish moments like these with me for times
when there is no time
for selfish moments,
no time
for hearts to be free.

i shall put it in my pocket,
as the little diddy goes,
and save it for a gloomy day.


oh, LORD,

be with me,

always.

Does God Believe
in himself?

would we
exile and detest God if he told us
"I am not a Christian
a Baptist
a Mennonite
a Methodist
baptized,
saved,
I do not pray
do not go to church on sundays.
Nor am I a Sufi,
or of Abraham's decent

no,
none of that am I."

Would we become angry,
let Down by holy one
if he told us,
"I get mad.
I wish death upon others.
become frustrated with you,
laugh with lesbians,
cry with prostitutes,
I with hold imformation
from others' ears--

I party for years
and like to collect tears."

would we exile God if he said,
"I cannot trust you,
for you fail
again and again."

would we spit in his direction if he told us,
"You are not one of great importance
or great matters;
you do not obey
and hurt
those around you."

would we call him fool and wicked if he shouted or even whispered,
" I do not agree
with what you believe
and the actions
you justify
for your selfishness that seethes."



Would we refuse to call him God if he remarked,
"But,
I love you
              anyway
for in you,
oh human,
oh man
I have invested
                      so much.
even though you
                        Hurt Me
                        Ignore Me
           and hurt Your Self

even though
                  You Project
                   You Blame
              and Make Up
                                   what you do not know

I      Still       Love You  -- I
still want to be with you,
however small a portion I am in your life,

I want to be all of it--I want you to trust me,
for I know how to keep some pain away;

I want to trust you, but find I cannot-- but I love you anyways."

What would we say to a God who works in quite action
& Fiathfulness
                    to men who seek him

what would we say to a God Like That

instead of one who calls us

Privileged

                                             oh, human
                                             oh,           Israel.

                                                                                                   perhaps we do not recognize
                                                                                                   the Image of God
                                                                                                                              in ourselves
                                                                                                                                                anymore.





Who is God's?

                  
                           

mitosis- the division of self

Divide,
Divide
         step to the side.
but exact copy
is made;
            ripping of self, division.
to think
inside
millions of you
                      are ripping apart
               yourself

to think
just now,
           millions more
           of your own flaws
           are rplicated
           reciprocated
                              and kept

can one run from self
if one divides self?
                     
peeling apart,
a copying of sorts
                          no long what was, but now, how does one decide
                          which daughter was first
                          and which to leave behind?
mitosis is...
mitosis is...
                the division of cells?
my crisis is
               the division of self.

give-ness {of self}

what i thought to be spite,
rancor glossed over features,
face varnished in my sweater

was really
pinicle forgiveness;

absorbing my offense with marrow;

owning pain his own to bone and bade-ing  sadness,
bade-ing truth fill  and come in truth of hurt,
in truth of brokness
                             and broken love.

in moment of spite,
no, everything not all right
not quite
ready to give respite of fight
till in sight is his own

heart
own self
              peeled back as skin from muscle,
               nerves vulnerable to slightest touch
           till tough varnish covers all and speaks to me,

"I Don't Like it When you hurt me.
  

does god see
                   the  restraint

as we do?
who are we protecting
when we cry
for ourselves?

pretending
                that we fear
                the loss
                           of holy.
what trust is there
                                       In God
When worry wastes
away our wishes?

                                                            you've heard it said
                                                                             care not what you wear
                                                                                          what you eat or drink
                                                             for the pagans
                                                             run after these things.
But I tell you,
run not
after yourself

at all.
                    Instead
                               you've heard it said,
                               If you have two coats, give one away
                   So,
                        I also say
                                 If you have one heart
                                 do not cling
                                                  so that it sticks to itself in a cellophane mess,
                                                   but give way.
                                                                                               
                                                                                                                        Love
                                                                                                                        is not
                                                                                                                                Honor.
there is no limit.
let limits dissolve and sweeten on your tongue as you speak not in malice
nor in self respite
but in hope and acceptance
                                         of self
                                         of other
                                         of situation
                                                           and sit a nation of conciseness
                                                           between your legs as you rise up.

god does not see resumes.

Winnow

knitted love
provides no protection
as flustered ice drops
cover my path. 

wind withholds
only to dissolve
only then to winnow--
winnow my steps;
winnow my breath.

and i am scattered
among the drops
till soaking knees and soaking socks
also drop

and the wind won't run;
no, it stands against
to winnow my steps
and winnow my thoughts.

turn to see
how many steps till i return
but the wind covered  my path;
it's covered my past.

white as snow,
oh, no.
dark as night.

choose the clique,
for neither quite right.

but Winnowed I Am.
the deepest part.
Winnowed I Stand.
how does one start

again ?