Photo by Don Northup
Link at bottom of page
Some mornings time feels like it's on a break. The clock in your mind is still slumbering in toy-land where your child spirit plays peek a boo with a God-Almighty-love still. This medieval body does not fit the picture frame. I should be Prince Charming, not this frog, this dopey dwarf at the foot of Your bed. I should be exploring the delights of a Snow White Beauty in a fairy-tale mansion with no visitors and soft-porn on cable. Instead of this creaking shipwreck beached in a tumble-down morning. And wouldn't you know it, it's raining! God, you used to send me such fine little girls. One was even a pagan-witch straight from la-la land but she sure could spell up a few juicy tricks; even You were impressed in those days. Now I have love-angels to play with and they get the better of me. No wonder I wake up ravished to the bone and blown away into morning songs - but some days it's just raining. The world looks no better than it should be considering how it behaves in front of the camera lens just to be seen on the screen of this real-time play that gets written when we look the other way into a dark fantasy. Some mornings I have to put on a face and go find a place to be undressed again of the fables of this daily round and debug this self on some holy ground where dragons are loved up by the tail until nothing is left of them but a shit-eating grin that could be the smile of the Buddha or the satisfied smirk of Mona Lisa after some wild party. And there remember where it's all at. Where the rain falls from, and where the heart of Jesus was last night as he melted into Snow White in the bliss fields praying for more of the same.