Cold Table 02.04.008



a long time ago, before the Room:



when i was a kid,

i'd cry silently to your God--

wet and warm in the shower,

tears hotter than fire

pouring from my eyes,

rivalling the flow of our crusted water spigot.



and throat tightens up, the sobs

convulse their way out--

from the gut and vibrating through bone,

piercing through heart;

strangling vocal cords and rotting teeth

til the spiral-dizzies--

popping and erupting in vibrant colors

against the dark spaces inside my head--

would eat out the backs of my eyes.



and legs go rubber-akimbo,

diaphragm tears through air like

rabid wolves through the sickest and weakest of the pack.



i'd heard stories of your God and his naughty children;

i'd heard how they broke their promise

and thus unleashed every plague,

every evil, every broken family

and starving child

upon the virgin world.



i asked your God that if He

so desired--

and if he promised to keep his word--

i would take into me all the bad of the world.



and if he let every evil die

as i lay passing on my own deathbed--

i told Him that i would commit;

that no matter my pleas and woes and sufferings,

i would continue to let him empty into me

every sin and bit of sadness that haunted the race of man.



thrice did i call to him, and thrice was i so resigned.

thrice did i collapse upon my bed of compressed fiberglass;

and thrice did i rise anew.



Mom and Dad never once knew

of the promises I'd made.

nor does the doctor, nor the pharmacist;

nor warden, gatekeeper, cell-mate.



i keep hearing of this man named Jesus.

and i can't bring myself to believe that such a man ever existed--

'cause i believe in your God, for He is mine now too,

and i know that He would never lie to me;

i know that He, above all men,

will keep His word.



and this Jesus fella, well,

it seems like he did everything right.

don't it?



so why did your God

let me make the same promise;

to be honest, i am scared.



the fellas here with me,

they say God's a liar;

says i'm the only one who can hear him.



and sometimes, as i stare into the Light--

as the straps tighten,

bite into my wrists--

as the needle plunges home,

petrol jelly on my temples

foam-rubber between clenched teeth

spittle flying from Mouth

and onto Cold Table--



sometimes, Familiar Voice

whispers into my ear.

he tells me that they are right.