When I Say God is a Poet

 I mean
( wingbone, my God )

Presumed afterthought of architecture,

But were we the albatross,

Could not dream of soaring

without this anatomical mooring to flight.

(Oh parentheses of my human!)

The bulk of my body may bleed,

But when taut muscles collapse in song,

Scapula Slow Dance with scapula,

I look at God.

Mmm

 is for metaphor

Thought, the seed
in a clumsy stampede through Broca's garden of weeds
(or a reticent retreat back to the root in shame)
 Mmm
Is it a bird? Or a plane?
The seed has sprout out the forebrain
and shot clear past the constraints of
vocal cords bearing chords the sound of irises—

Purple and rich and relentless.

Mmmhmmm
When I watch how that sound was begot from naught
You know, I can't help but look at God.

Every mood, every mind is a mechanism--
The Engineer, generating the elegy or acrostic
to weep with or ruminate within.
Deconstruct the poem
and organs fall at your feet.
Sonnet the kidney wide open:
The machine sputters in protest.
Lovesong your way through each vertebrae:
The machine whines, wheezes.
Villanelle the very being The Engineer conceived:
I look at God, my Author, my King.

about// the human body is both industry and poem

About the Author, part 2

1) I was a co-editor of my high school literary journal. Which is to say, I’ve been a word-nerd my whole life.

2) Aside from Father, Friend and Lover of Humans, Jehovah God has also earned the title Great Poet. I learn so much from Him.

3) I also learn from the abundance of super talented authors and poets, both living and dead.

4) the study of dark versus light is my favorite subject to delve into when writing 

5) like a vast majority of writers, I’m socially awkward. My inherent lack of verbal communication skills is both a curse and blessing: it enables me to write well, but also makes it really hard to talk to people sometimes.

I’ve mentioned this before, but just to reiterate: this blog is in no way funded by or considered an affiliate of www.jw.org, the incredible and life-changing official website of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Fourteen Again

I am fourteen again

Disbelief at the dulled mouthknife— 

stinking bits of chewed heartflesh in between its teeth.

I am The Overused Blade 

built to bully, bludgeon even, the quiet riot of hope to oblivion.

I am The Stench

Dank rank of domesticated swine

(Am I, really? Inherently, am I?)

And fine,

I am The Heartflesh

Thick-vesseled and blue veined

At last, yet beating the blade subordinate.