SLAM!

Devolving Theology

My brain is soft, silken tofu,
more malleable and forgiving than my heart.
It constructs rough altars to rogue gods,
forces that cannot love you
as you love them. It picks apart
theologies, an anarchic divining rod.


When I was six, spinning in the dew,
arms splayed, a whirling dervish jump start
to limbic prayer, I spoke with God.
He said, "I'll give you a clue.
You will know Me through poetry and art
but you must seek Me alone, or it's fraud."
I have traveled since, far beyond my means.


I am a quantum dabbler, it is true,
syncretic, gnostic, heretic, by parts.
My soles slip in the footprints where others have trod.
I shake a cosmic cocktail, an ethneogenic brew,
one-half cradle Catholic, spritz of Wicca, a garnish of Descartes
that numbs the sting should you suggest my philosopy's flawed.


I care now, not for answers, holy mysteries will do.
A-whirl in quiet contemplation to storm the ramparts
of the brain, this frontal lobe so frangible and odd,
an ecstatic neural nodule hot-wired with God glue.
I sit in silence and stillness to start
the unmasking of this world the angels laud.
All living waters flow to the same stream.



"DEvolving Theology"