The Gas Money Spent on Sex Alone


I coulda used for deliverance.

I’m still struggling to find

part of me is Egypt is land

of milk and honey, what I’m meant

to leave behind.

Is it so miserable to love

the vastness of myself, desert and mirage

when I run, will the load weigh me down. I think

shed the pains you can.

You’re already stuck

with mortality with inconsequentiality

with the total loneliness of living

in the rebellion of individual truth. I can’t say I believe in it

but I believe there is a belief

sometimes only you can see the burning bush, a feeling

you cannot shake.

So shake those who remind you

you are alone,

until you are alone and nothing consumes you

without your permission.

The man inside you wears you

like a coat

because you have chosen to be this coat

for him this deliverer

of warmth. You will find your own

not in him.

You will find yourself in him

until you do.

Each night you’re driving

a twenty minute exodus, barefoot

on the consecrated ground.

Warm with a shot of holy water,

you find hazy street lamps to be angels. Driving

90 and it’s three

in the morning. no one is awake to ask where you’ve gone.

Just a small light, a disembodied voice

telling you quick,

Go, flee this land, take

a left. Arrive at your destination

where you must text the boy who leads

to whichever house is home.

Once, he couldn’t be bothered

to come down the stairs, he gave me

the wrong room number

and I found myself

in the empty bearings of a different stranger’s strange

room, and for a second I paused

before fleeing,

to look around

and listen.

And on the mountaintop

Moses waited

for the voice of God.

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