My version of sitting quietly with God
Is no kind Eden.
Sounds, thoughts heckle,
Like skinheads in a bar,
Hating my couth look.
Is a faraway shade moving in slow,
I dread the possession,
Yet seek it;
Eyeballs strain further within,
Socket flesh tight.
Like a dark whale rising
And there’s no, no, no room for me.
I slap and flash and flail,
To get out, get out
Tendrils of dream climb my spine,
Like interweaving snakes,
Selfish helix, hemlock rising fast.
Did twin snakes coil Eve’s tree,
I watch them come.
And plead for Him to find me
When they’re done.