From a tired atheist...

Look, child, I am not shopping, so stop selling.

No, I don't want a taste of your god.

Yes, I have met god. I've met a few men's gods.

And I've been somewhat, unimpressed.

Men tack gods onto their back pockets,

like collector cards "Look, mine's best! Mine's best!"

But the best gods I've ever met

were the quiet ones who sat on kind tongues

behind contemplative eyes, in compassionate ears,

not interested in saving me, or fixing me,

or damning me, or wanting me dead.

The best gods are teachers, not tyrants.

The best gods are roads, not graves.

You want a god, that's a fine place to be.

If that gives your life meaning and direction, 

that is a good thing and I won't have you any different.

But your god wants to stick his cock in my business;

then I have a problem with both you and your god.

And we know from history the surest way to end gods,

is to end their cultists.

-o0o-

First and Last Rites

You were my first, you know,

but I wasn't good enough.

You went out looking for yourself:

travelled the world, came back,

...changed...

said how much you hated me...

because I have changed?

How clever you are:

gone digging in other folks' gardens,

just to find my grave.

Sorry I don't have a body or

something for you to bury.

But you've gotten so clever,

finding things that don't belong to you.

Religions. Cultures.

Other men's husbands.

Maybe if you go away,

you can find something,

to put in that grave you found,

or up your ass.

-o0o-

Autonomy

Autonomy

by Charl Landsberg

Jack prefixes his opinions,

about my body, 

to be tattooed into my flesh with,

"You shouldn't..." and "you must..."

I suffixed his teeth with a brick.

If you want to write a thesis,

bring your own damn ink.

My skin isn't a public canvas.

Shit out your opus elsewhere.

-o0o-