parts of a day

I.

jesus
god
and the 500 saints
that refuse to get up for breakfast
singing songs in a temple

5 rotten tomatoes
no
9
no...
too many too count
its too early
for me to number things
in my head
but
not too early
to stand with fingerless gloves
drinking coffee
from paper cups
smoking dunhill "light-uhhs"

monday morning
and who wants to go to church
let alone
sunday school class

last night dreaming of chests
smothered in
tattoos
and
suntan
lotion

last night dreaming of
wagging tongues
and smiles

the only way i know
how to tell you bout
how im understanding you
is to tell you bout
how im understanding me

and the anger
it runs deeper than a river
she is both the
weakest
and the
strongest
part of
me

and for this i both
love
and
resent
her

and you wanna talk betrayal?
ive met my judas
and shes kissed my cheek
whispered in my ear
telling me
"i lub you"

and its monday
one day after sunday

and jesus is asleep
and jack kerouac is
"on the road"
and im a
"dharma bohmzha"
and the book cover is cobalt sky blue

orion sings at night
whilst the saints do sleep

bukowski's in his resting place
hughes is dreaming beneath a pile of raisins
festering
and
emily dickinson's
dresses have turned to
ash

i will fall in love with a star
i will fall in love with her dust
maybe i should learn to love
ugly that is beautiful inside
instead of
beautiful that is ugly on the inside

but im lecherous
and cravenous
one time too many

and my inbox is full of spam
promising me things
that i pay fortune tellers to predict

and god
and jesus
and the buddha of this temple
smile on from books and paintings
whilst children
run amuck

and i write you letters
bout absolutely nothing
write you letters about absolutely
everything

and this joy and anger
are biting through the morning air

i should go buy some gloves with fingers
but i like the rag tag
like the rag tag all too well

and i dont want just either or
thats always been
my problem

i want the beautiful that is gorgeous inside
want the star that shines from inside out
want the saints to wake
angels to gather on the beach
call up the sun

and bring tomatoes
back to
ripeness

and give me nights
that wake me
full of

words like these.