Thursday, August 20, 2009


form of prayer
twenty nine and strong
always been strong
not jacked
no muscles ever bulged
from my shirt sleeves
more the fit type
you’re a lot stronger than you look
that’s what they’d say
after a little friendly scuffle
I was that kinda guy
but not today
no, no
today, like yesterday
I take in one of my lessons in humility
and mortality
every few months
my back goes bad
I can never really pinpoint an action
or occurrence
maybe it happens by sleeping the wrong way
or maybe it’s because I thrashed too much
playing the sex game
or got all twisted up
in a wrestling bout
whichever it is doesn’t matter
I’m reduced to my bed
any flat surface
to sit in a chair
or the seat of a car
or on the toilet bowl
is to invite pain
to walk is to rely on the puppet strings
of a laughing, maniacal puppeteer
I stagger and scream
grab onto a railing
a table edge
anything solid and within reach
I only walk when I need to
for work
or to get to the bathroom
after hours upon hours in bed
I tire
I get bored
so I kneel
Jesus Christ
I’ve never kneeled in my life to pray
not once
have I knelt down
at the edge of my bed
or in some churchhouse
I was raised to meditate
to sit on my ass
cross my legs
stare into the middle of the nothingness
and wait for god to pull up the shade
make me see the light
not now, though
the back won’t allow the Indian position
now I can only kneel
and I kneel for salvation
in front of my desk
my bare nipples level with the keyboard
the only light I see
is the light from the computer screen
it is not holy
not to them
but once speckled with words
my words
it becomes holy to me
so now I pray
now I write

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