the instruction book caught fire in apt. 602

I believed once.

Religion and Sprituality

twin anchors around my neck

I wanted to believe,

wanted to be anchored

to that biblical

shore.

I believed in Belief.

 

But

            Now.

I believe in

wasted time

and

rings

stamped by coffee cups,

in conversations that last until morning

and

the smell of books.

 

I believe in God

God Almighty, Goddamn, good God.

If seeing is believing

then I’m blind.

An observer of faiths that parade

themselves before my eyes

Like an art show

interactive offering

                                    they offer up their wares.

I turn them away,

waving my hands in

upside-down prayers.

 

I cut off my hair

And with it the roots

of placation tradition stagnation

 

I believe in the moon and your kisses

and the number 42"

in sweaters and taking the stairs

and that “it’s always about jello.”

 

Am I what I believe in, or something more?

 

The questions arrive like dinner settings

Waiting to be

Smashed.

My brain is popped like popcorn balls,

Flooding the floor with

Guesses/yeses/nos

 

I believe in:

changing my mind.