sacrifice

it is said
that for a man
the earth
is his mother.

but in jerusalem
they say
that a man
takes the earth
as his wife.

that these fruits
of that earth- grape,
spikenard, cluster
of henna and green fig-
these are his offspring.

remnants
brought to the table
innocent of the meal
as issac on his mountain,
as the ram of abraham
at moriah.

- myra sklarew

confession

I.
it was crude
indelicate but tangible

like a line on a form
asking to convey in a word
a relationship

these are the bare bones of our love
nuanced affection
scattered in soil of fear and selfishness

waiting for us to die.

II.
careening toward the stairs to meet you
bright eyed and empty

you pretend to not notice bones stretching through skin
poorly hidden by vestures of indecency,

feathers in my mouth.

"i was expecting you.
are you well?"

of course, can't you see how happy I am?
nevermind all that, i'm very well.

can't you see?

III.
slipping feet from shoes and dress overhead
how quickly i am exposed.

so obviously intentional
(or was it inadvertent?)

i wish to escape it so easily,
but not all things well worn are so easily renewed.

i know it to be nothing to free myself of so easily.

fearfulness, unbelief

unaccompanied by any true sadness, tears
roll into the ivory cleavage of the piano
rusting instruments of conversion

i heard you whisper once from the rooftop
among the hum of machinery
that truth can be heard not above the noise, but in it.

dreams disquiet me, teach me, wake me
and lead me out of my gate in the morning.
what evils must lie in my heart to see such things in the night

i stand wavering in your house
polluting it from within,
and yet asking to not be consumed.

if my love is but poor
i have no means of entry, no attire
to accompany me

(it cannot die, i will surely die with it!)

this is not you, this is the thought of you.

hell

but if they were condemned to suffer
this unending torment, sooner or later
wouldn't they become holy?

-franz wright

it's thematic in my mind...

we all know that the handful of people who have acquired it forsook the means by which we seek it. it's such a tired paradox, and even if it's true it might not be worth it.

there are so many words to rush through before it's time to sleep, just don't let it go unsaid. superstitious devotion devotional superstition and still not one dreamless sleep.

i who build weapons in my heart and house in my soul every necessity for war see the offer extended and smile in sarcastic disbelief.

their eyes followed you to heaven, not wanting to exchange your bodily presence for this promised peace, this Comforter. how cruel now that He is so easily exchanged for anything else.

the dream of a ridiculous man

there's a man, the narrator, who is admittedly ridiculous and has stopped caring about everyone and everything. he is reminded upon seeing a star one night that he had bought a revolver some months ago to kill himself, and resolves to do so when he gets home. a girl on the street asks him for help and the man is frustrated by the concern he feels for her.

in his house he prepares to shoot himself in the head (the right temple), but falls asleep and dreams instead that he has shot himself in the heart.

(what is the true sadness of man?)

in the dream he is transported to another universe after death, one with a beautiful sun and earth much like the one he left. he approaches earth to find inhabitants whose only cares are love and eternity. he encounters, as it were, paradise. overwhelmed at the hospitality and kindness of the people, the narrator feels as though the fullness of life has seized him by the throat. never before had he met people so unencumbered by illness, fear or pride. they were eager to erase the signs of suffering from his face.

there is a break in the story in which the narrator concedes to the transformative nature of such a dream, but reveals what he had wished to hide: in the dream he had corrupted them all, he caused the fall of these men.

first came their dishonesty, then jealousy, then shame, which they made a virtue. "they experienced suffering and came to love it; they declared that suffering was the only way to Truth. Then science spread among them." they longed so much to be happy again that they "deified their own wishful thought, and prayed to it. And although they were certain their wishes could never come true, they worshipped them with tears in their eyes."

(his inability to rationalize the world or his inability to find peace within his heart?)

before he awakes from his dream, the narrator offers to be crucified for the corruption he has introduced to them, he pleads with them to be martyred but they refuse. admittedly he loves them more now that they bear the signs of suffering.

after awaking, he says, "Truth whispered in my ear that I was guilty of deception and saved me and showed me my way. But I don't know how to organize paradise on earth, because I can't convey it in words... But never mind, I'll go and speak tirelessly, for I've seen it with my own eyes, although I'm unable to tell what it is I've seen."

crime and punishment

In his illness he dreamed that the whole word was doomed to fall victim to some terrible, as yet unknown and unseen pestilence spreading to Europe from the depths of Asia. Everyone was to perish, except for certain, very few, chosen ones. Some new trichinae had appeared, microscopic creatures that lodged themselves in men’s bodies. But these creatures were spirits, endowed with reason and will. Those who received them into themselves immediately became possessed and mad. But never, never had people considered themselves so intelligent and unshakeable in the truth as did these infected ones. Never had they thought their judgements, their scientific conclusions, their moral convictions and beliefs more unshakeable. Entire settlements, entire cities and nations would be infected and go mad. Everyone became anxious, and no one understood anyone else; each thought the truth was contained in himself alone, and suffered looking at others, beat his breast, wept, and wrung his hands. They did not know whom or how to judge, could not agree on what to regard as evil, what as good. They did not know whom to accuse, whom to vindicate….

In the cities the bells rang all day long: everyone was being summoned, but no one knew who was summoning them or why.