tired of telling the same story

tired of looking at the same woman

tired of living the same life

the fantasies of the flesh, are seldom stimulated by the spirit

being good all of the time

being judged all of the time

just doing time,

and wanting to do something else

These might be evil thoughts, but they enter my mind

am I depraved

am I saved

am I a slave

And the obvious line, is the one that gets written, all by itself

Can we afford to trust our nature

when our nature turns against us?

I only want to be honest with myself

If you are a saint, perhaps, you should live that way

and if you are a sinner, can you condemn yourself

again, and again?

We can only afford to do, so much

until the law

charges us,

beyond our life

and we live in debt.

I can’t force myself to write

even when I feel that I should

It might be

that my spirit

is wrong.

Truly, this is a conversation that needs to happen

between me and God

but God doesn’t always seem to be there

or, it seems that He doesn’t care

What blasphemous thoughts

and they don’t stop there

Strange things inspire me

like a woman who can dance

when she gives herself to the floor

I can’t force myself to be attracted—I just am

this wildness, is the wildness, I want inside me

Do dark fantasies, dawn, into the light of reality?

Careful lives, are too comfortable

for me

yet, I am living one.

Perhaps, this madness

will be

my dance

to my own drum.