Monday, December 2, 2013

The Church Of What's Happening Now

And as years pass by
the enormity fades too.
Sixteen years, divorce
and today's sermon
places current vortices
at heaven's pure gate,
not the old cold pains.

And it's twelve years since she blew
her insides to paste
and crawled her way free
while I shivered and shattered
and they held me close
until I could go
from there to a new posture.

There is nothing left
of the old except
me. That's it. It holds water.
Me and the new cat.
Me and the basement
that I now call home, women
upstairs, my dinner.
I watch my body
come apart on some schedule
kept by mystery.

‎December ‎2, ‎2013 7:07 AM


  1. the last three lines, christopher!!! i hardly know what to say.

    i touch you)))


    1. How did you know I visited you today?? I touched you there. I left no sign.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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