Irreverent

Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow... From Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens on Sunday mornings I listened to the painful dreariness of reverence dreaming of evil Saturday midnight thus I was pulled, wish boned to the point of psychotic break in what to give and what to take my father is to blame he claimed the forest was his church, and it was clear whiskey was his holy alter wine I thank the divinity of mother's genes the whiskey was too strong but still the forest beckons I sorted it out despite the double bind that those consumed by lust do not go blind I sorted it out and found divinity within my mind no agnostic ghost at all it is in me, the waters birds and rain and snow it is within my joy and grief