I'd like to say that the day I quit God
was like a knuckle-sandwich,
a lightening bolt, or a surprise
seizure that tore through my brain. I'd like
to say that the earth shook, shattered,
and birds screamed their shrill cries. I'd like
to say that hurricanes raised hell,
ice caps melted and died.
You would think that an army of angels would have rolled
down from their clouds; tackled and tortured me
in my disbelief. You would think that a beaming Beelzebub
would have slowly crawled from a frothing volcano to find me,
to slither his way to me, to pat me on my broken back.
But in agonizing actuality, losing God was like a slight shuffle
of thoughts; like the smallest change in the wind;
like a soft whisper that you can't really name, but stake
your life on its truth all the same.
The day that I quit God goosebumps like ghosts rippled
across my bare skin. A quick fever pitched and failed.
Faith faded away.
In the Paddy
In the paddy where no one looks
is the stretched silk of a kimono.
He slowly licks his wounds.
He knows how it is;
dreams of tatami nights.
Like a glorious geisha,
they say it is so.
Sunsets and sake;
he fans himself to sleep.
A slow karate flows
through the words of a warrior.
He dries away the smooth sweat
through the movement of his day.
He has studied hard;
the way of things.
Crooked old men,
are like Siamese cats.
They count the hours until morning,
the days until death.
2 cups of stress
and a tablespoon of anxiety.
1 pinch of self-doubt
and a dash of low self-esteem.
Whisk until sobbing,
then cry yourself to sleep.
Check on your panic at 4AM,
Season with a Xanax if needed.
When you wake with red-rimmed eyes
and dread in your heart,
stick a toothpick in your existential crisis
to make sure you're done.
Plate for your pathetic party of one;
paranoia is your guest.
Pairs well with a side of haunting memories
and a glass of aged nightmares.
Serves 1 – 2 therapy sessions.