Challenger/Champion

Work through challenges like any man would.

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By crying out to father; Father, forgive me, for I know not what I have done.

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Seeking mother's touch. To Mother; caress my body in Myrrh, once laid to rest.

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In a world of devotion, imitation, idolization, instant gratification. Seek a hand of grace, not one of cruelty, seek the place where a babes cry, meets mother's coo.

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Present is a place, void of spirit, a babes cry, rings out; to no echo. To no warm embrace. Dirty, soiled, bad-tempered; mother's ears are deaf, to this babies falsetto. No hand of grace, no mother’s touch, only torment; only whimpers.

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Tears tread down narrow, undulating, swollen eyes; cradled in hollowed bones. Down, down, tapping, dripping, dropping. Drooling onto dirty soiled frame, hollowed by hatred, hallowed by shame.

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Tread, tread, tread. Blop, drip, drop, tear, tear, tears. Travel the tunnel of birth. A crap shoot of probabilities. Popped from the space between urine and feces. Plopped upon the crap-table, arrival, unhappy, a-being, unexpected. 

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Confront the Law, not natural law; the law of averages. To a serpents hiss, affronted by a woman’s whis-per, “you are departing unhappy.” Heel bruised, fork tongue, slithers off, affronted.

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Making out, then making off. Flicking classic movie poster post cards, from index finger. Flicking an ear, to disturb a friend.  “Dare I disturb the universe?”

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Keeping time, not natural time, whistling “Giant steps” like a type of syncopated jazz aves, barreling Geary ave. Gunning for the coast, rebelling, Jim and Buzz, screaming, “let’s see who chicken!”

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The buzz fades, sipping whiskey, from a worn leather, stuffed in the side pocket, tucked next to a Faulkner, novel. Not understanding my worries, limping, strolling Geary ave. 

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Trimming the top off parking meters, I tread, the sulfur surface, and use the change to tear out pages from newspaper dispensers. Disturbed by the mendacity. Perturbed to trepidation. Tear drops, soak, wear through the pulp, diffusing the ink, exposing the truth.

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I tread through life on hot summer pavement, worn down, like a used tire.  Rotating round the circumference, axle grease spews out the hubcap like a boxer spitting a tooth.  

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Racing down Columbus Ave., wailing “a love supreme”, speeding past a statue of St. Francis of Assisi. Touched by stigmata, and a revelation; a truth, I sped through life, heaven seeking, hell bound. 

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Tires bald, worn down, the psst of a nail wound, puncturing through a thin layer. No more rotations, to a force greater than my own, strewn upon the cold pavement, as my breath hisses into the aether.

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Father forgives me, for he knows what I have done.

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Crack of polyurethane window pane, under foot, Fanny, a flower, sprung on the sidewalk adjoint the Café Trieste.  An on looker, in Illumination (as dew turns to mist) says, “The pane broke so well.”

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Mother caress my body in Frankincense, once laid to rest.

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Amen