In these past few days I’ve had more people in my bed. They’re sleeping.
You’re happy, you’re happy with this.
You’ve got those old home creaks in your deep breath sleep, that pilot light click and old pipe rattle, that old floor-board stretch and sigh and…
That Mississippi flow, that arterial…
Hold that timber in place.
You’ve got such soft skin, and those confession sobs in my shoulder, the instant intimate.
I brush the hair out of your eyes and chant, over and over in ancient tongues I stole by torchlight and gunfight, chant how beautiful you are, how much of a person you are, how much worth…
echo fade refrain of that self referential ranting rattle devolved to nothing but the plosive double beat of:
You’re happy, you’re happy with this.
It was so long ago that my age is told with an almost negligent gesture at my shins and that archaic “ye tall”. Came home from bible school, talking all up and down about this covenant we’ve got with God after the flood. The proof, the proof is in the rainbow…
That arterial, that Mississippi swell…
And I’m so god damned tired of those suburb pristine houses ink-slam stamped between highways and strip malls, those long wind American dreams tatter waving in the wind of progress…
Old home creaks, pilot light click, old pipe rattle, floor-board stretch and sigh and…
You’re happy, you’re happy with this.
We’re pew perched and praying with that call and response rhetoric…
Yeah, that’s my grandma up in that urn. That’s her husband red-faced and deep wail sobbing, my grandfather would never show me that much, no man, no man shows that much.
And you ever think God’s just up there in heaven, knee to kneeler just calling, calling back in unison?
You’ve got such soft skin, and this isn’t even about sex. I just want you to reach over…
That Mississippi flows, that arterial…
Feel the muscle swell in that splinter grip.
God, you’re beautiful…
you’re beautiful, and brush your hair back from cheek.
God kneeling down before bed, praying, just praying that we’re all really here, that all this means something.
You’re happy, you’re happy with this.
I’m chanting I love yous in languages only the dead speak because, because you’re so alive.
You’ve got those old home creaks in your deep breath sleep, and I’ve not been home in so long…
The promise is in the rainbow…
That arterial, that Mississippi swell…
Lift it shoulder high and walk, no telling when we’ll put it down again.
God’s got them marrow rattling tears just tearing through. We don’t, we don’t answer prayers anymore.
You roll over in your sleep, and I check the clock.
It’s far, far too late.
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