Closets and Churches

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Take Me to Church

My lover’s got humor.  She’s the giggle at a funeral.  Knows everybody’s disapproval.  I should have worshiped her sooner!
If the heavens ever did speak.  She’s the last true mouthpiece.  Every Sunday’s getting more bleak.  A fresh poison each week.
We were born sick,”  you heard them say it!  
My church offers no absolutes.  
She tells me, “worship in the bedroom.”
The only heaven I’ll be sent to…Is when I’m alone with you.
If I’m a pagan of the good times?  My lovers the sunlight.  To keep the Goddess on my side.  She demands a sacrifice!
Drain the whole sea.  Get something shiny.  Something meaty for the main course.  That’s a fine-looking high horse.  What you got in the stable?  We’ve a lot of starving faithful.
That looks tasty.  That looks plenty.  This is hungry work.
No Masters or Kings.  When the ritual begins.  There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.  In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene…
only then I am human
only then I am clean.
Take me to church.  I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.  I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.  Offer me that deathless death.  Good god, let me give you my life.
##Andrew Hozier

Gay people should not join Catholic clergy, Pope Francis says

No room for ‘fashionable’ homosexuality and gay priests should be ‘impeccably responsible’ or leave

 

Joanna

I begin a verse…

I hesitate on a word…

I lose what written freedom there is.

To a life years ago…pictured in a daydream.

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She had smelled of Henna and Poison…and, and, and…

She had come from the south…

An urbanite in flowing skirts, cotton piled upon cotton

earth tones among simple Aztec design.

Her smoke rings, gentle and meaningful.

Made menthol circles around a crowded granite tomb.

An odd figure among provincial settings…

ancient walls, ancient floors…soon to be filled dorm rooms.

Had I known of flirting…it did not provide me with a guide.

Young and bare footed…I wore, yokel…with pride.

She taught me of love without borders…

sensuality without touch…

She taught me…ever so, much.

I think of her from time to time.

A southern belle adjoined with sophistication, Cat Stevens and…

lust playing between…hours, minutes, seconds.

I think of her from time to time.

When my youth took a delicious, decadent, memorable ride.

 

Hidden on Commercial Street

Flipping of a coin from tail to head.

cart-wheels on the beach.

Drag Queen working the beat on Commercial street.

Bare-footing, on the sultry tar.

Hidden seaport cemeteries overgrown with unknown kin.

Similar searches…

Performed like a well manicured dance from centuries ago.

Gentle Journeymen and Women with unease being the common goal.

A sense of unique sadness for each seeker.

Respectively, all grinding down to the marrow.

Sure as there is salt in the blood.

And, annoyance from the misread.

If I could prosper my soul in this secret search.

I would unleash all that I have.

But cannot be bought.

Yet,

most likely,

I would rather stay a seeker.

Romanizing tales of lost love…

And, her deceivers.

 

Dreaming in Rainbow

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Grew up in vivid red.

Amassed my mind from toe to head.

Not prison of gray.

Not a reprimand of black.

Only paint brushes filling in all that I lacked.

 

Day to day.

Reflections and distance seemed the only blurred scene.

Such is life.

Living out loud in someone else’s strife.

 

Words of fetal encouragement this child’s dream.

The blush turned to cruel dark tools.

Ship wrecked by mature fools.

Poison filling the juncture of water color pools.

 

Now, an old woman.

I am an angel to my rainbow.

A wrinkled, innocent, for what is possible.

Years can come and go.

But red is what I know.

Colorful beauty…head to toe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stop Making Sense

When young I could not rearrange the shame.

I only heard words such as,

‘You are queer.’

It was then…I drew the terms of isolation near.

Amassed myself in,

ribbons, bows and the pink of fear.

Attending to only,

‘I knew there was something strange about you.’

A parent’s abolishing phrase?

Words only a child can hold dear.

The life we choose does not always make sense. If it hurts no one. It shouldn’t have to.