I don’t want the ‘spiritual life’
I want to feel the ripped apart heart
to know I am the fire
and the water
boiling and frothing with
the deepest love
that soothes as it scorches
tattooing onto the heart
the constancy of creation’s
greatest gift
My piety doesn’t want to be quiet
it wants to holler
stop fucking children
you’re killing them
us,
me
Repeating between the thighs
and within the heart
like the same gotdamn
gatling gun used in their
classrooms
We mourn the latter, moaning collectively
honoring repeated depths of grief
but hold the repeated rape
in silence, secret
it’s always been this way
we say
holding the breath: 'secret'
I want to hail the Black Mary
Kiss the brown Jesus’ feet
Sing a hymn off-key
off-kilter, it’s own damn drum
reaching hearts
of others
afraid to touch
the fire, not knowing its the water,
the way
I want my stillness to percolate
My silence to sing
in god’s grace
and worn out jeans
without the uniform of
performance, whiteness
witnessing birth from death
breath of life
word of love
Don’t tell me about the tithing
or the way so-and-so
isn’t invited to the table
of communion or your openness
to closed doors
bordered hearts
bound love in exchange
for appearing as you want me or them to be
Love doesn’t exclude
or measure the bounty
or define the beauty
and bends only toward one arc
unto and into itself, it's creation
I want to divest that love from the white uniform
of someone else's idea of purity
giving it the passion and purpose
it's boundlessness is made of
made for
Deep love.
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