while god was sleeping

We rode Harley 74s and phantom Nortons
going up the high side of some massive, wooden angel
and we felt alive, we bit into sweet and knowing fruit,
while god was sleeping.

Elizabeth St was a river of discarded Bhagavad Gitas.
We were torn between the poles of tarnation and eudemonia
and we were fearless and knew love, and love became our anthem
while god was sleeping

We weaved between the cataracts of roller skating Hindus.
Our flesh was good – the whisper and the blush, they never lie.
And we felt we truly owned our blood, it was not borrowed from our graves
while god was sleeping.

In god, we rust, for a name spelled in a prostitute’s alphabet.
In god, we thrust, to blackness, to a groaning ever after –
we kissed the devil beneath his tail, we got ruined and remade
while god was sleeping.

We decided
our lives were our own
while god was sleeping.

This entry was published on 09/22/2009 at 9:22 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

3 thoughts on “while god was sleeping

  1. A terrific poem and so nice to hear the tune again!

  2. olivesmeltz on said:

    I love this “random post” feature – it brings me lost favorites like this!

  3. liverloverlass on said:

    I went to look this one up – so glad you kept the reading I have always loved it!

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