The Mustard Seed

and love ...

like the shore line
looses it shape with time
as tide and tried and fight and fury and winds of unfathomable change
render strange
and eroding shapes
against what we make

of love.

like pagan heathens - seething in there own glory
erecting false idols in the wake of their own euphoria -
we call the golden calf "love"... and lay our souls at it's feet.
destine for defeat / and destruction
you can smell the sulfur comin' ...
because we have a tendency to place faith in the physical
and just because you make my body shake
or i come so hard i lose all my protein ... makin' my head ache
doesn't translate

to i love you.

but we long for our false gods because evidence doesn't require faith.
it's easy that way.
it's not hard to worship the sun when you bask in it's light
it isn't difficult to build upon lust when the evidence is in your thigh
like the building pressure of an
arthritic knuckle begging to be popped.
i stopped
looking at love thru lenses of false pretenses
i ceased
my belief in a love that doesn't allow me to breathe
because i have to believe
that a love that is healthy for me requires stamina
deep breathes for the long haul ...
and when i purse my lips taking shallow breathes
as i drown in the depth
of your ugliness

it's not because i don’t care enough to argue
it's because i love you enough to try and reach the surface
flailing harder in troubles waters
will cause death by drowning faster than just floating.
for something better and having faith in it aren't so far removed.
but i too ... am looking for evidence.
i wait patiently for confirmations
something to put faith in
because despite what i've said in past conversation
i want to believe.

i want to be
that parishioner struck by the holy spirit ... flailing in the isles
i want denial
replaced with speaking in tongues .. and the language love
would only be recognizable to your ears

our here
and now
is like encryptions … glyphs on
the walls of our daily actions
appearing to others as interpretive dances –
but we know
that taking the garbage without me askin’
means you love me more than your own comfort or time line.
And right now
I don’t need the golden calf of an anticipated thigh
As evidence that I love you.
I am pursing my lip and clenching my fist - riding the shore to something more
Than meets the eye.
With fettered faith – I am riding the tide.