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. |
