Monday, September 12, 2011

A Way Of Scaling Mountains

Salvation is inevitable which means that religious duty is either an illusion or a bad idea (or both). The 1970's were dim, filled with nervous cats and sour apples that rolled downhill to gulping rivers. I grew up in a gunny sack, singing Civil War songs. Say ouch.

Remember that afternoon outside Boston, drinking gin in the cool shadows for hours? How long can two people not speak and still say love? There are always lines and we are always crossing them. It's a creed, it's a way of scaling mountains.

Fortune absolved us yet you linger in the screen. She laughed, telling me how long she had kept the therapist "in the dark" about us. My last confession was rote, the priest looked sad and bored and after I couldn't stand how bright the sun was, falling everywhere like God. He told me that he threw all the pictures away but you can never throw all the pictures away.

Fell asleep on the floor, wrapped in an old carpet, and woke up in a church that smelled of piss. You want gun shots we'll give you gun shots. A pumpkin stared sadly at the moon which did not stare back because, really, neither pumpkins nor the moon are capable of staring. And yet.

One teacher tried to argue that Jesus was nameless. What did he shout when the hammer landed accidentally on his knuckle? It's no joke that we're more or less without the mail now. But in the unholy din one can always hear a note of grace.

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