I’m open to god but I don’t like capitalizing
on god. I mean I’ll open the door
to the Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I won’t
let them dominate the conversation.
“For what profiteth it a man,” I ask them,
“if he gains salvation but loses
the remote?” They smile uncomfortably
as I turn and head into the kitchen,
returning with the longest carving knife
in the drawer. Their eyes get very big
and they start back-pedaling toward the door…
“It’s a double-edged sword,” I tell them,
“this war between the spirit and the flesh.”
Then I prostrate myself in front of
the couch, and cast around underneath it
till the knife touches up against something
I hope is the remote. “The way a life of renunciation
touches up against something one hopes
is the soul…” I say to my well-dressed
guests hurtling down my front steps now
two at a time, not hearing me at all,
though my door remains open, my cheek turned
to the cool hardwood floor, and I’m fishing
around for something lost, contemplating all this dust.