A Poem by Ty

I love your God
passing on my condolences,
savoring a single grape.
He lets its blood rest
on the very tip of tongue
and very back of throat.
He gargles like a sink drain
and violently spits wine
while maintaining a steady chest;
if that is indeed a chest.

If I opened it
and gently pressed my fingers through,
as electric peasants lick up
the fatal alcohol,
there would be no gears,
there would be no tubes,
no formula and no fluids.

If I went elbow deep
with no expectations
my arm would come out clean
on the other side.
And my hand would hold a stone.
And this stone would turn to glass.
And this glass would become sand.
The sand would turn to clay.
The clay then to water.
The water a bath for my hand.
My hand then a stone.

I wouldn't see this happen
for by now I'd be inside Him.
Engulfed by God.
Swallowed entirely by God.

And as one hand waves free,
protruded from the back of God
in a reverse birth,
the other makes its way
up His rigid neon spine.
The bone ladder many before me
have fallen from,
itself climbing, trying to get
to the head of God.

If I opened it,
unfolded it like pie dough,
and saw every star,
they would not scatter.
They would welcome my hand
as a disappearing cradle
to sink into.

And in this ecstasy,
the sensation of everything
being everywhere,
every step an earthquake
down the halls of known
and unknown history,
I open my eyes
to see him holding
my wet hands.
And I understand
the shackles have left.
And all that is left with me
is all I will ever need,
a whisper, "go on now."

© 2017 Ty

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Added on May 11, 2016
Last Updated on May 13, 2017
Tags: God



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