The Gas Money Spent on Sex Alone
I coulda used for deliverance.
I’m still struggling to find
part of me is Egypt is land
of milk and honey, what I’m meant
to leave behind.
Is it so miserable to love
the vastness of myself, desert and mirage
when I run, will the load weigh me down. I think
shed the pains you can.
You’re already stuck
with mortality with inconsequentiality
with the total loneliness of living
in the rebellion of individual truth. I can’t say I believe in it
but I believe there is a belief
sometimes only you can see the burning bush, a feeling
you cannot shake.
So shake those who remind you
you are alone,
until you are alone and nothing consumes you
without your permission.
The man inside you wears you
like a coat
because you have chosen to be this coat
for him this deliverer
of warmth. You will find your own
not in him.
You will find yourself in him
until you do.
Each night you’re driving
a twenty minute exodus, barefoot
on the consecrated ground.
Warm with a shot of holy water,
you find hazy street lamps to be angels. Driving
90 and it’s three
in the morning. no one is awake to ask where you’ve gone.
Just a small light, a disembodied voice
telling you quick,
Go, flee this land, take
a left. Arrive at your destination
where you must text the boy who leads
to whichever house is home.
Once, he couldn’t be bothered
to come down the stairs, he gave me
the wrong room number
and I found myself
in the empty bearings of a different stranger’s strange
room, and for a second I paused
to look around
And on the mountaintop
for the voice of God.
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