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A Mixture of
Self-Hate
and Love and
Transcendence
and ...
and ...
Out of the depths I cry to you, O God ...
If you, O God, would make a list of our iniquities,
how could anyone stand it! (Psalm 130)
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| For Michael X |
| My hands are wet |
| When God seems not listen |
For Michael X The pain of being loved – while yet impaired –
Unfaithful husband, wife – accepted, though –
Made angry with self-hatred, someone cared –
“I hate them.” No, I don’t, and yet I know
And don’t know why division rankles so.
I spent an hour reviewing how my youth
Was linked to others, mostly boys, a flow
Of sex-bedeviled friendships seeking truth
In flesh and fucking, sucking, lurking lust,
In separating touch, in ridicule
And pain. And now my mind is caked with rust.
My heart beat slows, conserves remaining fuel.
I offer what I have through them to Him
And sign that oath in this disjointed hymn.
My hands are wet. My mind, my soul are damp,
Soggy, impregnated with this man's blood.
I fear my fancy. Nights will ring
With his so calm replies. His dignity
Will grow and drive me mad by thoughts of my
Own weakness. And yet, what power was it fought
Against me, beating down my love for him
And making me an instrument, a tool
For deeds so base that Pilate's name shall mean
To men only coward and they'll spit at it.My deed was not my own and I curse that fact
Shall make me stand for his own stinking act.
Barrabas, what is he to me or them
That they should shout so shrill "Let him be free".
Wretched me; they hate him. Better he took
His place that was reserved. But now they shift
Their love and hate, the stupid mob. Their blood
Will boil. It matters not against whom. Oh God,
Tis dark and only noon. What have I done?
Oh, Heaven and Hell, I shall go mad; you rip me so.
When God seems not listen, not to care
About the man you are and want to be
And friends expect the worst, so little they're
In tune with us, so much inclined to see
The gossip's quip embedded in the line
Of words you speak, less caring of the sense
Of sounds than of their shape, the soul and mine
Of meaning in those sentences so tense
They strain like rubber bands held back like slings
In David's hand, like eager children's cries
Before the film begins, like falcon wings,
Like breath and lungs with the man who dies.
Oh God, unseal my ears that I may hear
Responses to my cries to calm my fear.
