Rick Bursky
The Who’s-the-Monster Spiritual
That there are a limitless number of sins available
To us says everything about God’s love.
That there are over 10,000 saints explains
Our fear of God. That the past is a stake
Driven through my eye illustrates my love
Of irony. God’s black heart is one reason
We shiver beneath our blankets each time
Another fly-by-night religion is invented,
And yet, no one’s Bible is clear on whether there are
Or aren’t personal pronouns in Heaven.
Once, I saw Boris Karloff, dead skin flaking
From his face, walk across my bedroom
In the middle of the night and never saw him again.
In the meantime, I prepare for the coming failures
By gathering tools and stuffing them into my pockets,
The explanation for my torn pants and scarred fingers.
I don’t want this to become
One of those who’s-afraid-of-who questions.
There are more interesting things to argue about:
Who will blink first, who will be a figure of speech
When they could be nothing else,
Who will melt snow for bath water …
We are the drum that God beats.
Everything else is a debate.
Crab Creek Review, Seattle, WA.