Saturday, November 25, 2017

raining days they aren't so bad

Homegrown rock to the rhythm and bop to the beat of the radio
You ain't got the slang but you got the face to play the role and
You can play with me

Monday Bud Lights and wine and cheese with dinner,
(to lighten a cold day).
Cotton candy, My-Little-Pony-colored sky,
flossing through the clouds at sunset.
I think my lover is angry.
He doesn't look at me,
but our lips meet all the same.
I am the only woman in a mass of all undergraduate men,
the priest is laughing at me.

And all the bros
Try for the courage and try for charity tight clothes
She's got a hat and all the hat says is asshole
She'll be bobbing to me

laughter in our prayers
laughing in our inability to sing, our off-key psalming
laughing at this man-boy flopped on the floor,
cruciform.
laughing as he sings Neanderthal love songs.
laughing.

Pretty hairdos and those lipstick kisses blown yeah that's the right move
Make me feel like I'm the one who moves you
The only one you see

Golden hour,
golden fields,
90 on I-90
[Wisconsin, in other words]
Blessed Be Your Name apparates on
my ancient iTunes.
Simple song of praise streams
over golden hour ground,
and hallows the sunset shine.
though there's pain in the offering.
Another bite of almost-mealy apple
and put my knee up on the door.

Take it down and don't you let those tears quench the thirsty ground
And don't you be so scared that you can't make a sound
Make a sound for me

Can Christians be in love?
is the post-lunch question posed
while we're digesting.
Crawford leaps for the answer—
which is the Charles Williams book on the shelf—
flipping to the final page, where it is clear
Dante's love for Beatrice,
a 14th century courtly love song to a T,
is also a type of Christ.
If Dante can love Beatrice,
surely we can love sundry beloveds,
because we have first been loved.
Digest that.
Surely we can love them,
surely as we drain these china coffee cups.

All of London sing
Because England swings and they sure love the tales I bring

Love's not our own invention,
just a response—
which is our creation.

Homegrown rock to the rhythm and bop to the beat of the radio
You ain't got the slang but you got the face to play the role and
You can play with me

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