"Don't make me come down there"

signed god on some sponsor's mega-billboard.

I cursed at what I had seen:

the failure of eyes to see Presence all-about

exciting ev'ry molecule and atom and sound.

I could have wept but pitied instead

the blind believers framing God so frightfully mean

hatred hot in God's eyes for what God sees

poised to rip God's beauteous creation apart

tearing us to shreds for our few or many sins.

But sighs rose from my mouth instead

watching light fill the foggy morning sky.

It felt like the other side of the Deluge

and I was Noah, blessed to hold the messenger dove.

I.

What's there to believe

sitting before videos of canned biographies?

When I look into the tragedy of my life

a life lost on blank minds pretending to survive

is Tupac Shakur the only tragedy in the Black race

or Michael Jackson a white-boy damaged buy the color green?

I needed affection but affection was denied.

The denial never banished the affection I sought

but surely denials infected my thoughts.

Now I'm an old man peeing on himself

yellowing my legs with more than the sperm of youth.

I am in and out, a depletion sitting side the empty road

damaging the struggles raging within my gut

suckling milk from The Abundant Breasts.

II.

It's difficult to know when you're growing up

without voice or heart and blind demands.

Lusting parents want sweat from their lads,

your time and tensions skewed by wants and poverty.

Where is hope when your mind's tied to absence

and needed bonds foregone as if religion

when pretences of meaning pour from twisted lips

and ears open to love are waxed with with noisy distractions.

Business substitutes for intimate conversations.

Hearts become poisoned with material exchange

when what's truly needed by the human searching

are intangible possessions purchased by caring hands.

We see but are snared into the desire for image

to have fame and toys and the pains of exclusion

but God's present in our moments of darkness

always Bread for the hungry prophet.