She’s all down here, all up there

Can’t decide
between the friend
and the idea of
crossing the bridge of action–
misunderstood always
like the use of English,
complicated, because there’s no way else to live–
I mean to analyze:
parsing desires and relationships
like grammar.

She’s all down here, all up there
in a heaven where they don’t wear white, but red
and don’t have it all together
and we love tension
because it refines
and that’s fine with me
as we pray for fortitude from the gurgle inside
and the pride that bubbles over
into the glass blown gods of creativity
reflecting second thoughts and shadows of fear in our minds’ eye
of what freedom from our common sense might have rung in our ears–
For all I have now are eyes and ears(–letters and sounds).

Wailing knives twirling

Wailing knives twirling, stabbing through my walls
That hinder your rippling power as your Spirit calls
Me to bottomless passion deep within,
Weighing intellect as 11 o’clock bells yell “Class begin!”
“What do you want from me?” I scream in fear.
“My book bag lying on your altar–me in tears?”
Evenly melted and so entangled I could never be!
For I departmentalize the Living One, inside of me,
Catching contradictions flying around my head,
So consumed, doubt I’ll catch me, instead?