MuttBoy: On the Eve of Christ's Nativity
The only thing memorable in fifty-nine of them
is that Christmas night many years ago
was the first time I got laid.
Some present: I should have stayed celibate.
Have I said too much, spoken crassly?
Deal with it. I barely remember it: except
there wasn't no mistletoe to kiss her under first
or after: she was Jewish too.
I still think a monastery would have been
a better choice: for I also got into Pandora's box.
If you want to call that Sexual Nausea,
knock yourself out, for every Christmas has that memory.
When I turned Catholic I was denied even
the cursed dignity of mourning mirrors draped,
no one cared, I was alone, added Catholic sin to Jewish guilt
and let myself go almost mad.
Returned to my roots, formally forgiven (but by whom?),
I contemplate the lack of caring I feel, how I missed
the truth that God lives inside me, in the rain,
even in that same love I sought years ago, seek still,
that I have made myself a mutt of the Mansions of God,
but that mutts prance and dance even in the rain.
KTW/Christmas Eve, 2003
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Kenneth
Wolman
http://www.kenwolman.com
"i had not really expected to find any of the art world populated with
ex-murderers fascists green berets and now i know that you can find
anything in the art world and they can even become prophets' -- David
Antin, "Tuning"
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