poem, poetry, Uncategorized

raving mary

all my life, to the gate
that sex stood behind, raving
i waved, nothing but happy to see

though the raving god seemed made by my very own ideas
curious, this god seemed to spawn from my very questions
and the confession was
to know what would i need to be
to call god on

i looked to her…the woman nearest to me
and around that cat’s neck was a wreath in fur
with leaflets spent in all directions
was she mary?

at times she rose, obedient to some reaction
to choke and sputter on white hair, and once again
settle down to recline in splendor
all my life might another story would do better

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