two new poems

A Sunday

I
arrived
to
find
the
Body
dis
membered:

the Feet more than
a few from

the Eyes, avoiding
contact with

the Arms that
couldn't reach

the Mouth, which refused
to speak to

the Ears, entirely
deaf to

the Head and the Heart,
pleading for unity.

We took our seats—
a pew to each—
begging for the LORD to touch
while dreading any other such.


You (you)

You’re You, but from the way i
close my eyes, refuse to get behind,
cover my ears, mutter my lies,
You’d think i thought You were you.

a heavy Hand high above
that could crush, or move, or love,
yet i pass over as if It were anchored
to the arms of a beggar, outstretched:

a sorry feint to faintly jingling pockets,
remorseful smile, (a look in the eye
to let him feel alive)
then passing by, no guilt, no memory.

you’re you, but from the way i
forget that old coat covers the Divine
(which i forget i claim to keep inside)
you’d think i thought you were You.

and what if i unblocked
my ears to You,
who asks me to find
You in every you?