bitter theology

kicked out of bed
by a god i
don’t even believe in;
there was no room left
at the inn
between you and your righteousness

you unwound the warmth from your legs
and gave me your back,
tacitly damning me to hell
for refusing your blessings,
for denying i had anything to confess,

so instead i wrapped myself
in a blanket and the moonlight
poured in by the window
insistingly left open,
curled into a ball
of affronted atheism
on the couch.

[3 hours later,
when i was still awake
and you were waking,
dressing yourself in armor
for the day’s assaults,
you picked up your keys without turning the lights on,
you left without goodbye
but with me wounded,
eyes screwed up
against a truth that
such a little thing
as God
could come so far between us.]

the conquest

Sitting splay-legged

on a dark pavement

still warm from the day’s exertion,

she draws an invisible sword

from the tight inner pocket of her jeans,

tips back her head and

laughs, close-eyed;

this, all re-covered ground

and still echoing with the footfalls

of dragon-drawn chariots;

she has long since

learned the danger

of thinking twice.

Music plays softly overhead,

incongruous;

impersonal and plastic,

soaked up by new brick and sponged

inexpertly into the pores of her bare feet.

One by one worlds pass by:

parents with children, couples in love,

impregnable youths.

They glance and turn,

watching without seeing;

unaware.

Her mind, a thousand miles away,

kicking the shins of impossibility

with those calloused feet,

unwinding threads through a maze

and gazing skyward,

always skyward.

psyche’s curse

heavy air sharp,

cold bursts from

lungs

imagined

exploding with

rightness

at a touch

in darkness

tongue’s grit,

coarseness of a single

stranded hair

also dark

also imagined

a brush of hands and

pressure gently building

with ache I turn away

from the pillow

breathe

the artificially warmed molecules

of here,

endless grains of sand

oppressive in their

reality.