garments

Actions are clothing
Hiding…expressing—
The wrapper
All we see
of ourselves.
Of others.

Actions speak
But not the loudest.

The loudest sound pounds on in our ears
The background pulse;
Throbbing undercurrent of every deed.

POUND molestation
POUND feeding the hungry
POUND suicide
POUND going to church
POUND murder
POUND fasting
POUND rape
POUND giving to charity
POUND thirsting for power
POUND teaching Sunday School

POUND

POUND

POUND

Our incessant drive
Our one goal
Our true desire
Our central thrust:

SELF.

Controlling my own life.
Charting my own course.
Earning my own way.
Dominating you.
Dominating myself.
Dominating Him.

Through sin.
Through religion.
At our best.
At our worst.

We pump the same blood
With the same intensity.
The heinous criminal,
The devout lawkeeper.
We are the same.

But we don’t believe it
Because of the garments

Burn away the fabric of deeds
Good and bad;
Sins and morality;
They are chaff in the wind—
Ashes all.

The glare of naked skin is all we have.

No more security in the good I do
No more cowering in the shadow of the bad
Just me
Naked
Raw
Scorched
Singed
The truth
Exposed
Like a middle finger in my heart
Bent to self-exaltation

The good girl
Is
The murderer:

The law-keeper
Who
Won’t be ruled

I am what I am
All my bad
All my good
Tainted
and
Vulgar.

Glaring.

My sins
An unbleachable bloodstain
My righteousness
Bloody rags

ALL
An offense
To His holiness
The middle finger
In my heart
Thrusting at heaven
Screaming
I WILL DO IT MYSELF

Into the naked crowd of the world
He stakes His claim
Through tendons and flesh
Hands open and writhing
Smeared with my pain;
My rage at His claims to supremacy
In a shower of my spit and cursing
He screams toward heaven

I WILL DO IT MYSELF

And becomes
My garment.