o' the cleaning. o' the cleaning.
'coconut season' (03.06.06)
beware! the sharks slither around above our heads. in nests made for birds in the tops of trees. and my heart dances around like the leaves on a balcony. who don't know it's too high and if they stray from it's narrow confines. the bones in their legs will break. or at least bend at the most awkward of angles. and i want to believe that i am past this thing. like the poor splintered rail and wooden post fence the small boy jumps over to get to the sparkling creek. where he fully intends to spend the rest of his afternoon, or perhaps even the remainder of his days, just fishing. but not for the sorts of things i did before. you see i used to hold my hands beneath the water. open to the tide in hopes that it bring them a smooth stone. perfect to place in my waiting earlobe. or wait by a tree. expecting, with the most ignorant looks, a fur covered coconut to part from the comfort of what it clings too and present itself gladly at my feet. even when i know full well it is not coconut season. so Old Man. take my shy in the daylight hand and turn these eyes that swallow whole elsewhere. because this is not where i should be. and the things that you do astound the simple mind. hooks for the catching and slaying of the crocodiles that plague me. crutches and slings for the breaking of legs that slow me. linens for the patching and mending of holes that drain me. and words for the pleasant taste and sliver shining of heaven within me. 'surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.' then i keep these eyes upon you and the things you reveal to me. a softly promised treasure that glows beneath this warm loose sand.
'the sloth's haunts' (02.11.06)
i found a crumpled piece of paper among the spare laundry change on my dresser. and on it was a plan. the only one i ever had. made the day after my parents explained there was no stork. that this is a woman. she carries your other rib and without it you'll never be complete. and i do remember that is scared me to hear that. seeing all those curves. but not those of which it has become man's custom to observe. gloves pulled tight over then and pretty hands. smooth dangling curls that ran of rounded shoulders, clothed in hooded sweatshirts, that turned and twisted about as a waterfall in midair. silver beads that hung from ears like a small child swinging his feet from a rickety bridge and whistling. eyelids that held a shape like that of an apple when they were closed. just so you wouldn't forget there was something beautiful hidden behind them. but i was so afraid of being that boy they whisper about on tip-toes and quietly laugh about behind polished nail hands in the girls bathroom. so i made a diet of spoonfed culture. and the things i learned! o' the things i learned! be attractive. people take notice. and i nursed bulemic pride by causing others to stumble. stay fashionable. others will appreciate what you can fit into. and i learned that being pleasing to the eye is the leading cause of teen heat. be clever and it will get you what you want! but never what you need. and i came upon her on a street corner, bathed in a filthy light that slipped over that slim calorie counting figure like a curtain over a child who is pretending to hide but plans on being found. clothed in cinnamon and sly of heart. 'i've offered my sacrifices and just finished my vows. and it's you i was looking for!' she said. 'i came out to find you, and here you are. my bed is spread with colored sheets of the finest linen imported from egypt. i have perfumed it with myrrh, aloes, and spices. come home with me.' so i held tight to the hem of her dress that has seen more death than the a hundred seas, and she led me away. laughing behind her polished nail hands. black stilettos clicking on the cobblestones and her tongue in my ear. because sin whispered makes it seem more like a secret and her soft touch makes this whole thing appear decent. and i make a plan for life! but came home to find that it had withered. and i fostered a desire for sun soaked beauty. but found it to be meaningless. like an anorexic peacock with a short skirt of pretty feathers. i slept, head resting upon the warm breast of the sloth, and it's breath poured it's whispered sins into every bone of the body my father gave me. so i became a a servant that speaks secrets to himself from behind hands with dirt pushed deep beneath the nail. digging for coins to fill his threadbare sack with. a fig tree in full leaf with idle branches that become discouraged in the slightest of gusts but in good season still bear nothing to eat. but You put a finger to my hip and gently pushed that fragile ball from the comfort of it's socket. You make me weak but i was a cripple from birth. You offer me freedom from the plans i have made, as i continue shouting in Your patient ear how much i love this earth. create in me something clean. the fox has it's den. the thrush has it's nest. and all that i desire is to be a home for something greater than myself.
'than don't resist anymore.'
come, we'll make plans for life and then watch them wither. and in the end Father, You are all that matters.