This is an intense week. Performed for a couple of funerals, started a new job bartending at the Allways lounge, and the poetry-play I wrote, LOUP GAROU, opened. The intensity of life is far beyond my poetic grasp. I put my pen down and pray.
DAY
2:
....
Dona
nobis pacem....
my
confessor leads me....
to
an iron cross on my knees....
between
twin rows of oak....
....
“don’t
you know me?....
child,
i am Martin....
brother,
priest....
friend
in christ....
to
whom you always turn....
when
the devil gnaws your bones....
this
is the ninth time you’ve come here....
come
naked and insane....
come
like a wounded animal....
howling
and speaking in tongues”....
....
i’m
trying to focus....
on
what he is saying....
but
i’m seeing the cross burst into flames....
i
hear the chanting and shouts....
i
hear them trying to cast the demon out....
i
smell my hair begin to burn....
....
brother
Martin consoles me:....
“this
is not a penance....
yours
a soul i have not seen ....
i
know nothing of your sins”....
....
but
i know this trick....
first
the carrot then the stick....
there’s
a bat in the belfry....
the
bishop’s in a bush....
the
devil’s come to supper....
you
will not hear my confession....
amnesia
is a grace from god....
....
