Gut Covered
I heard the mountain color blue
riffs on the bullwhip air—cracks sparking daylight
my knees grew old against granite ridges
my ankles older still and the hinge broke
I rolled into the sound
felt the hum in my burly gut
gut covered in old world hair
refused to shave it ‘cause why
Evolution wanted me covered and civilization said clean it
and I thought /stick with a winner/
The Baptists tossed me for saying evolution
and I pointed out change was acknowledged by Aquinas
and they tossed me for the schoolmen too
tossed me for all thinking
tossed me for not rambling about crosses and bridges
Stuck in the dark and rumbling
getting hit by fists with unknown faces
This is what it feels like to be iconoclastic
This is the aftermath of casting idols down
What if God was true and unlike you
a Being outside arms and legs and football prayers
What if existence itself was a bit of pool hall betting
God on the side with a cue—calling his shot and tossing the deed
I don’t like being played with by forces greater than me
I like less playing with weaker forces
What stage of living am I in?
Am I voodoo chile or am I Bee Gee douche?
You never can design your own rhythms
Can’t teach yourself to walk
Can’t birth yourself
You can turn—put yourself in the canal
but you can’t ever birth yourself
Something else has to push
