Baptist Outpatient

I had my Religion out this morning.

 

These days it’s an outpatient,

not like ages ago when the king himself

had to forcibly remove it.

 

I couldn’t go to church for six months prior,

they didn’t want me to read my bible for 5 weeks prior,

tithing anywhere was just out of the question

ever since the first doctor’s visit,

wasn’t allowed to pray,

to any specific entity, anyway,

couldn’t say things happen for a reason

without mentioning cause and effect,

had to sign a disclaimer that I understood

I would no longer be seriously considered

for political positions,

but I could keep my church membership

cause church’s have tons of members that don’t practice anyway,

I couldn’t dress nice on Sundays

unless I also dressed nice through the week,

couldn’t give glib responses to complex questions

while donning an all-knowing smile,

had to pick a random foreigner and

start a conversation with them,

had to read the classics,

Plato, Aristotle, Socrates,

and for some reason

even though I was getting my religion out

I had to read books on other religions,

had to read Hitchens, articles on Westboro Baptist,

magazines on war in the Middle East,

lots of reading for some reason,

couldn’t watch Lifetime and had to watch R-rated movies

with dirty words and sex scenes with unmarried people,

had to listen to rock-n-roll and Marylin Manson and John Lennon,

had to drink a six pack over the weekend,

couldn’t participate in any function that contained

interpretive dance,

had to say the phrase, ‘No fucking way!’

in a crowded restaurant loud enough for people

to overhear,

had to spank my kids if they misbehaved

instead of just reasoning with them,

had to watch all the Harry Potter films,

utter the phrase, ‘Protego’ at myself in a mirror

then shake uncontrollably while pretending to have

caused an infinite paradox,

could not tuck my shirt in,

had to surf the Internet for porn,

 

and I had to do all this before they would even consider

taking it out.

 

They said while they were in there they went ahead and

removed what they could of my Guilt.

 

But I know they didn’t get it all

because I sometimes feel like I did a bad thing

by having it out.

 

 

Faith

Giving Alms

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I'll tell you the problem
with Faith.

Its bias.

No one has faith in something that they don't like.

That they don't agree with.
That they look down on.
That smells.
That makes them uncomfortable.
That they fear and loath.
That doesn't give them hope.
That doesn't promise infinite happiness.
That isn't a reason for everything.
That doesn't love you unconditionally.

If Faith wasn't so biased,
we could have it in our fellow man.

Unspoken

Unspoken

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When I was living
I left fear voids,
an embarrassed unspeaker of things that
should be said,
comforting things,
cool bed covers on a summer’s day things.
Each well thought out novel excerpt
bottled up into an awkward moment’s
silent little soliloquy.

Each repressed emoticon
too cliché,
too much like a movie line,
rehearsed sounding,
as if mumbled sideways by some sappy poet
ready to expose my delicate ego
to some mirage of infinite possible responses,
or worse,
left desolate in wide open silence.

It was these Unspoken things
that were swallowed by swift moments,
hesitations led by a tug-boat of doubt,
slow moving but of powerful persuasion
tightening the unsure rope around the words
on the tip
of
my
tongue
and dragging them to the back of my
remorseful throat.

And the dead drew tears.

They would never know the words
I had kept to myself.

Then I died
and went to a place
similar to what you’d think
and they sat me gently down
at a wooden desk and slid a book under my nose.

The title was simple:
Unspoken.

The authors were many
and line one chapter one read
“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that.”

And the living drew tears.

Harajuku Office

Harajuku Office

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My thoughts are loud
I know they are.

They coalesced on a fuzzy
grey damp
and then got shiny defined
with dreamy structure,
character driven
gear shifting
action and passion
as I stood up in the middle of all the cubicles
raked across the lava floor
to stand face to kao,
ordering the harajuku girl to stick out her tongue
before taking it in my mouth
all Officer-and-a-Gentleman like
and no other cubies seem to be looking my way
but I feel they can hear me.

My crusty thoughts are loud.
I know they are.