the face of god

Say the name, Ava Gardner, to any man of my vintage. Generally, they do a slow ideation comparable to an spreading devastation, explicit to an asteroid blotting out the sky. Dying happily, the first and last orgasm of a twelve year old boy's joy.

Were God exclusively woman (obviously not) she'd look like Ava Gardner's passage from neutral to lubricious anticipation in: The Night of The Iguana, as those two beautiful young Mexican men approach shaking maracas. Their dancing strut, her lust, the scintillating sound slithering towards her . . .

Not a dream but a memory awakening me; having recently read St. Augustine's poetry. Add a sure and certain conviction we do not allow women parity in all things at the peril of all 'mankind'.

My final sense: The Beatitudes prescribe what we must do for the poorest of the poor. The measure of good or evil, weal or woe, the reputation of civilization was when gone. As it will soon be carrying on as we are.

Of course God laughs, at me, you, all of us, our follies and propositions.

Let us now read, praise and adore the voices of those who sang the phrases of passionate compassion; bleeding out a the last, sacrificial/sacrificed. Taken out of context, inherent their words genderless better describe 'god' than any sense of our being made in 'god's' image.

Were I bone dry tinder and she the flint who struck us together?

She, amongst all the women, whose random and fleeting kindness (there were men, as well, but rarer—finally/fatally—less precious) Has been and will for ever remain the distillate dissolving my tomb. I had thought to name M then P then remembered my two dream encounters with Mary the mother virgin face in shadow no words spoken a presence remaining and mirrored in all women without exception reborn awe struck a tsssssing sound snake over dry grass moving I am to peace now knowing myself loved by another no doubt.

The undertoad reminds me the bride and groom stalled upon tracks train colliding ending them before conjugal congress / odd these thoughts resurrection within all life birth and death synonymous. What is a play is the definition of way lays in between. Heaven/Nirvana is now.

for what and whom do I write? for the simple joy of it myself

"To love someone is to identify with them." - Aristotle

130507 02:57 the face of god

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved