Weekly feature by: Kristian Kuhn
There’s a tiny cathedral lying in the center room of my brain,
a sweet tasting sleep aid because tonight
I’ve been the spiller of red wine on white rugs.
I’ve wrapped barbed wire around my head
with gold sequins although it makes
no big diff…
I don’t know if my mother wants me talking
about this kind of stuff in public –
it’s a story of the stinging in my palms
and the love I shattered
and the love I rebuilt.
There aren’t enough terrible things happening in my life
so I’ll fold the edges of the toilet paper to save the earth
and then tell you about my girlfriend’s terrific truffles.
Tonight I wrapped my tongue around the whip cream dispenser
and prayed for the fate of humanity within all the white balls of fluff.
But I’m not very good at prayer.
Seldom do I feel anything afterward
…no divinity…no serenity…
no awareness of things.
I haven’t changed the sheets in weeks
and I haven’t known too many
soft angels either.
Just yesterday at work I opened the fridge and considered
my Tupperware but instead took a brown paper bag
with a writ name not my own.
And I finally told a priest that I stole money from the church
twenty years ago and I think it led to the death of a man.
My memories stopped flashing backwards
and I’ve begun to see everything in the now,
not in some kind of pie-in-the-sky Zen kind of way
but in a way that makes my heart stop and my eyes see sparks.
I haven’t started giving my possessions away yet
but I feel like I’m going to die young.
I have a million strings tied up to so much puppetry
but lately I’ve begun to let go.
The churchgoers would probably say “Golly, Geez.”
The agnostic … “Jesus H. Christ.”
I don’t know what to tell you other than the fact
that I don’t have a Twitter account.