Sistine

With one eye to one eye

We stared intent, consenting, tense, contemplating consequence

And in immense, indignant diffidence, we commenced in self defense.

He brought us presents, bread and sex,

Friends ripped from ribs, and spread in beds.

Like butter milk, silk skin, lathered, sweating, wet. 

And, manna for the greedy pecking hens.

And still we stared.

My fingers.

My fingertips are sweaty.

My fingers wrinkled, and my nails, those nails are mangled,

Mangled, mangled.

They’re callused, cuticles at angles  

I point them at the Angles.

Angles Angels Angles!

Dangling, cradled, cornered, strangled 

Calling, crying, screaming, stapled

Across the angled bars of maple:

Nailed to sins, intentions poor, entangled 

Scarred and torn and ripped at angles 

Like my nails, wings torn and mangled 

Failed by hymns, man’s songs, just labels.

Because to some:

God is words, forever faithful, 

Built through ages, Carved,

Construed and tasteful 

On pages, with angels wings, bloodied, stapled.

The world is man, man is god, and so we're grateful,

The worlds just words, so its problems can be prayed for.

But some of us choose

Not to subscribe to the lies prescribed by this view,

I for one,

I am alive; I have breath and a brain and accuse you;

I choose to pursue, refute and refuse you.

You who fuel feuds of religious rules

You cruel ghouls, who soothe schools of bruised fools, 

My eye stays drawn to the great eye, and I AM SMALL. 

I’m Small, I'm lost, and I'm gross, and I'm damned.

I'm Meek, a freak, and weak, a Lamb. 

I follow, my thoughts, such blind eyes, bland. 

I know nothing, and nothing is what I am. 

I AM GOD: AND

I stand,

A sandy island

Grains, sliding, grind in silence,

Glass waves, tiding, breaking pylons.

These stones, we hoped would hold but now are idle 

The Jetty's torn, in natures bridle 

Bit and chewed, a vicious cycle. 

I AM GOD: AND I AM

Shanty town violence in Thailand's highlands. 

Third world words heard, but blurred silent

Letters curled absurd, till slurred by learned tyrants.

Human rights denied asylum. 

A broken Child, whose tears confided,

In gentle friends, the few, dear blighted.

Decrepit idle man of prose, scream prayers to Michelangelo

PAINT US PLEASE, BUT NOW IN PERFECT HARMONY

FINGERNAILS GRINDING TIMELESSLY 

GAINST LEVIATHANESQUE NAMELESS MIGHTY BEINGS

OUR EYES PRESSED TO THEIRS SO WE MAY SEE

Right?

BECAUSE WITH OUR EYE TO HIS, WE ARE GOD: AND WE BECOME 

The question that shakes all faith,

That grasps a soul, thrusting it inside of another.

Killing devils, and demons, and evil stepmothers,

Stripping certain southern suburbs of racial struggles 

Remaking all people as equals, even wizards and muggles.

See we had one eye to the great eye, and we thought we were pure,

But God swallowed us up, and now we cry in his gut,

We writhe and despise, we fight and we fuck, 

Live and die inside as parasites, 

Multiply, diverge like nuclei, 

To conquer and to crucify.

.           .           .

We are the ugliest part of the most beautiful thing in existence,

Till’ the day we're expelled,

In existential, excremental shells, of shit.

I think to myself, as I open my lids.