it can be nothing else if He blew life into Adam
floating away in the stream of regret,
He has set aside this tumble dry of you, for you.
but He cannot dwell in a soiled cavity,
A month long journey to Him,
reconnecting with the utter-ness of nothing,
so like He blew,
into Adam his breath,
He can blow into you.
God is a jealous God,
He wants to bring you closer to Him,
and there you are pretentious,
an ever dependent earthling,
incessant ego prattling,
go make yourself then,
if you are indeed something.
Oh ingrate, oh hypocrite,
yes I am talking to you, to me,
the writer of this ode of misery,
vile and wretched you live your entirety,
come for one day and be pulled to His gravity,
it’s not ever down, but always and ever upwardly.
In your abasement of carnal fetishes, find your hollow,
create the space, and remove your sorrow,
and find the root of you,
by cleansing with blunt bristles if you have to,
and follow inwards, and swallow,
the bitterness that is admitting,
that you’re merely something borrowed.
One month of your life,
for a lifetime for Him.
And you wonder why the breath of the fasting is like musk,
What else would it be if naught else but God is within?