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
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
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
yet, I am living one.
Perhaps, this madness
to my own drum.