A Sinner’s Loose Stomach
for A.P.

how I dare not get too near her
do I fear her holiness

contaminating it, corrupting it
rubbing against it roughly
rupturing, bruising it
like the petals of flowers

or do I fear becoming holy
do I fear wholeness, what is it

with care I step
about the place where she is
about the state she’s in

I could cuss, could think vile thoughts
imagine what is not at all holy
words or whirls or worlds

grew up in a bar
the men smoking, drinking,
boasting, wishing

rough raw thought of men
their cuss words, irreverence

visited by these
become what I witnessed

machismo, vile aspirations
harsh creeds in my brain
in my bone marrow also

can I become uncontaminated
claim innocence once again
after all my senses have been soaked
in Gin, in sins I overheard

some things they craved
I too learned to crave

I find the news as bad
the things we hear or overhear
and contemplate

things we might not have imagined
how do we scrub away the darkness
once we’ve been in it

or remove the scent of the cave
from our clothes and hair

bats nesting upside down
inside our brains

how do we be in the world
and not of it

even a lady, even a priest has senses
open-ended, unable to ward off
shield out what offends

Christ with leapers, sinners of all kinds
as close as clothes about him

how did he wear them, love them
and maintain holiness

delicate spiritual walk to walk
without it shifting

a train upon tracks at times jumps its rails
a ship upon its course
is sometimes blown off course
or tossed about

are the winds and the waves gentle,
merciful, careful, respectful
about the ways of God,
about whom he employs

who is concerned
about the Lord’s anointed

who removes his shoes
because he’s crossing holy ground

holy ground is crossed
on screeching tires
on motor bikes, backfiring
and upon one wheel

what of reverence
for the things of God
for the servants of God
for the service of God

are there no holy hours left to observe
for everybody to respect, time to reflect

to remember our mortality
to remember that dust we are
and unto dust shall we return

haven’t we all souls to save
chins or heads or legs to shave

in preparation for
that great gettin' up morning
after having been dead and buried
after rotting in graves

worms sucking us up
as if through straws
until our grinning skeletons
alone are left

to what do we genuflect
while we still can

to what do we submit
or do we wait until we’re made to
until we’re in the dirt
or under water or in fire


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
1:19 a.m. 24.03.08