.................................
the false prophet and the mystery of babble-on
.................................

god searches my heart
for signs of apostasy
curled somewhere, he thinks
like a premature persimmon.
but I've not sinned
according to the god-rules

blessed are the pure of heart.
and god wants me pure
not defiled by unclean meat,
wants to bless me purely
with precision god-love
for a lamb gone astray,
wants to lead me out of temptation
to spread me before the sun and all the host,
to spread over me like Moab, like Bozrah,
to spread my garments on the road before him

god looks for me in silk robes
but I curl small in flannel pajamas,
hide my face from the brightness of his coming
(god-radar is absorbed by flannel)

I've laid up heavenly treasures,
gold, refined by sweat and free weights,
(but thou shall not tempt god!)

so god waits while I spend my coin
at the feet of idles.

Babylon is fallen, is fallen

so god waits in his holiness
in his perfection
in his feet of not-clay

wondering
what the wine of her fornication
actually tastes like

 
.................................
beatitudes
.................................

blessed be the shovel
working a bathtub grave
thirty inches by sixty inches
where I will build a watergarden
for mother's serenity

blessed be the spring sun
gentle enough for my white-white skin
warm enough to warrant
a childish run through the sprinkler

blessed be the scarecrow genes
too bony for beauty in school
that now keep me in jeans
the same size my wide-butt
friends' daughters are wearing

blessed be the construction worker
across the back fence pouring concrete
who asks how come I'm not in school today
from twenty yards away

.................................
Renay
.................................

 
Copyright © Renay
December 1996

...two poems in this room by jenne micale...
the coffee you poured on my words
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