Faith

These little insensitive things I do Steady and sublime like a Chinese proverb Filling the air with elitism and a scent of random smokers I’ve spend my life in this penitentiary These are the habits I’ve slowly succumbed to And sometimes it gets lost on the wind Into the rooms of Nixon’s and balcony dreamers The self-deluding, the screwed, the secret Amelia’s I dream my clouds in the escapism of an acid haze And I’m still stuck with this jailcell mind My faith have moved mountains Yet I’m the star-crossed voyeur to everything else dilapidating I’m the king of convenience, the queen of indecisive My faith will move mountains It’s all boots and books and wheels and wires And how the birds on the fence act so nonchalant about it Summer is Benzedrine and detergent cocktails Seemingly disenchanted by the passing of my youth Handsome strangers and boys in their father’s shoes Back alley encounters, barking dogs and broken light As bony elbows paralyze my pounding crutch Breathing in staccato and grasping erring limbs High-heeled, décolleté, half-hearted, ricocheted Bang the drum slowly to the perennial homily Nights can be so ephemeral on the edge of the seat Tangled up, entwined too, tied in and held down My faith is of canyon and sand Eagerly arising, steady it’s falling apart I’m cautiously building my fist for punches in the wind My faith is of the essence Lost for the believers, a steady sight for the sore eye We all have our cross to bear