The Spirit is the Story

an impassioned night.
The night I found out Laura Thorup broke up with Nick,
making her a single mother.
I listened to her weep on the phone,
prayed,
and watched Submarine.
I don’t know why I become this passionate,
but I am glad for it.
Th’aarn sleeps silently in the bed behind me.
once in a while, he shifts,
and occasionally moans.
i sit here, never wanting to sleep again,
but to drive until August forces me back to my studies.
to pray into a timeless eternity.
to run on a beach that never ends in an industrialized capita.

And once we hear the sirens singing us to sleep,
i know the fear within my mind is surrendered to that of my dreams.
i know you’ll turn around and be the face i’ve grown old with.
i know You’re everywhere.

there’s a wading into moving water that astounds those
who have never been taken out by it.
i forgot a bright eyed summer,
and the freedom that it brought me,
rich with granola and toothpaste.
when i flew to Africa,
(my wings got tired)
and my toothpaste spilled into my backpack.
i think i’ve lost hold of the stories i used to tell.
i think they’re less of my life
and more of a reel of 8mm film i play before spectators.
i think i’ll go get lost.

does the Lord command an audience,
or have we just traded in
a heart we held with infant hands
for robots that we’ve trained within?
i once was lost inside a church,
the lights were all turnt out.
i screamed at bloody murderers
and all the girls would run and shout.
how long ago did i grow up,
this vomit on my skin?
i swear i didn’t mean to,
but i looked away when he crept in.

cape cod, i’m chasing a youth i left somewhere on this peninsula.
i may have left it beneath a giant red X,
or in the attic of a church,
or in a surf shop.
i’m looking for a living, breathing story.
Holy Spirit, are you this story that’s deeper than words?
I tell it so You can breathe life into it.
You’re the magic in the words,
you’re the timelessness of nostalgia.
i love You
I love You
I love You.

e

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