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The divinity of nerds

“She combed her hair with a golden comb and shackled him to a tree.
 She shackled him close to the Tree of Life. ‘My love I’ll never set free...’”
    ~ Helen Adam, “I love my love” (1958)

It would be different had we never kissed
Your face would still haunt me
In its victory of unattainability
Hardly different from all the others
Not penetrating this carefully crafted shell with this endless scorching
Such a long musky drink it was
Through every barrier time coldness disbelief distance & surgical removal
It never ends so how could I
Have found myself risen
To a potential different from that of any nerd
For some time making friends that can’t be trusted
Fending off fists and teases of those young men & women who’d rather accept a petty convict
Not to be forsaken by one’s own people or by that ineffable thing called God
How different is that
From the most heinous of crimes
Forsaking everyone in return
Including you

In these countless stylized depictions he hangs
Suspended in throes of agony
Forever testament to compassion and hope to the dispirited
Very God of Very God rendered wretchedly pathetic
Taking on the potential sins of future believers as life lingeringly ebbs
How painful is that
Knowing fleshly people & spirit better
Than crude mechanism worship terror scorn
Why shouldn’t a kiss alone be sparking the convulsions
This mystic understands grounding
Of that merely uncomfortable thing called bodily injury
Offers newly-revealed wisdom to the end
That arrives in just a few hours bringing the world a healing
Not to be crushed by the torment of defeat
He never relinquishes what matters most
His passion

Which trial’s a match for a lovely face
To which one doesn’t know what to say
Other than something immediately obviously wrong
Not to comprehend why or how it might go better
Next time if ever there’s such an occasion
To potentially feel stupid again
Offspring of the horse’s ineptness and the cannonball’s subtlety
So much easier to turn to the divine release
Of crude mechanism fantasy artistry porn
Not to mention the next discovery that’ll improve the world
And with enough of that too comparable thing called brain power maybe even save it
How sensible is that
When nobody’s there to recognize
Any real meaning

You might as well have communicated
Depicted in significant-looking strokes
That limited thing called death
If at Golgotha it’s brought closure to potential struggle
All but forgotten with the roll of a stone
How meaningful is that
As the rising sun streams down upon those reunited in life
Not to forget a missing person whose lips yet spark the passion unabated
Here where two hearts remain bound at the verge
It can do no more than ensure the stay of consummation
To be forgiven of the most heinous of crimes may be the height of the divine
To forgive oneself is to achieve the greatest miracle yet
To die for an unbeliever may be redemption from death’s reportedly boundless scorching
To kiss one is to kindle and leave a thick wind to whip the most tormenting flame of living
In love forever

So you’d like to witness a nerd’s conversion
From alienated philosopher to flame-driven artist faith healer mad hero suicidal radical
Who’d risk a death sentence on a gambit
Not to hear a definition of that boundless thing called truth
You need be no more than a sufficient draw
Do no more than kiss passionately with sincerity
How believable is that
By the time the question can be raised what religions could be launched
How impressive could be the purely spiritual
The birth directly beneath the portentous conjunction
The rabbi amid midrash the orator sculpting beatitude the meditator in the desert
With those nails fixing flesh to a tree so much more visceral
Than these bonds of yours leaving no potential end
Of the paradise that may have been
A matter of faith

    June 2015

Thanks always returns

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