You are Divinity for the Techniques of this Life

for H.-

You want me to laugh?
I will laugh for insane's sake,
the insanity of it all, cry
out for it all, I will.

Yes, if it's your will, I will 
pound down the pompous, 
the fat saints and holy boys running
the churches; the fake stuff,
the fake men in pews, 
like the big men and the small men 
with big hats and without. The men 
with thin mustaches, with any old laugh, 
ha, ha, ha, 
supposing in their slumbering prayers, 
the naked awareness of their prayers 
will stop the approaching twilight 
and loneliness of truth.
These sisters & brothers
walking and talking & breathing
reality from the pulpit, sharing
a certainty to the others . . .

I am alien, remote, and alone . . .   

And if you want me to cry.
I will cry, I will outward. I will
whimper and throw my tantrum,
little fist to the sky, and weep
modestly, if you like, for the Jew
and the little tears left I have given
for the Christian, Arab and all 
their little fundamental theories
of hatred and stupidity, their existence,
and ugliness, of big automobiles 
and numbers branded 
with a speedy and specific integer . . .

Beneath your enormity, I will
break my bones and body, spill
my blood, hang myself from any old tree;
call me the Martyred-One, Beloved. At least
make some sense of all my hiding and 
all my shameful faces I have carried 
in the ghostly grey boughs of this existence. 
I call out Seven times in your name, 
and 3 times in mine.