God’s Grace Chases

God’s Grace chases me down city streets, oasis on the pavement: radiating out New York City sidewalks and shimmering out Sin City asphalt in the dead of the night,
stalking me subtly after hugs that harbored love and held back remorse that arms stroking backs did not evolve in course and the scoundrel needn’t have been placated by skin on skin and lips on lips and tongues tormenting each other in an effort to speak rapturously, wands and cups kept separate from seeking heaven be brought to earth,
the Shekhinah resting between The Lovers locked at the hip, gynandromorphs again gyrating, granting entrances to each other.

God’s Grace chases down a whiskey with a Guinness in a dive bar,
dirty deviants developing debutante deception in their delirium tremens – God’s Grace absent from the sly smiles that steal stealthily hearts and minds with their similes, or maybe it’s the beer talking –
he and she and all loitering, lingering, loving largely in the misty smell of alcohol that hangs from out their pores –
poetry posthumously lathering drunken slurring into something more than speech –
she hears harps in his speak, she smells Harp on his breath and suddenly death is oh so near and only the exhilaration of hammering nails into the wall behind her headboard might make her yet forget –
only feral passions fashioned out of soggy bar napkins that sopped up the spilled stuff, the foamy fission that’s fiscally irresponsible.

She wants to quit being grown up, quit being a child, quit being burdened and privileged, quit being a white girl with first-world problems, quite being, quit being, and absorb love.

She fails to realize she already does –
illusion plugging up her holes:
mortgage, car note, dog food, dog food, yoga. Light and love surround her, piecemeal, emanate out her ovaries, out her chakras, out her toenails and teeth, out her essence, out her off and defenses, out her, out her –
there’s nothing left of her, only doubt.

Her God’s Graces chases tradition.
God’s Graces chase banks of burgundy denial.
God’s Grace chases cars, barking.
God’s Grace chases disasters walking, spinning, seizing trailers and cars and shingles, in cyclones, in storms, in hurricanes and tornadoes, in monsoon season, in earthquakes:
God’s Grace chases ambulances and humanitarian efforts.
God’s Grace seeks out the best in human beings.
Humans being. Humans being human –
who could be so, faced with Grace?
So God’s Grace chases –
behind us –
driving us forward like a horror movie monster, gnawing at the back of our minds, chewing on our brains if we give up and let It.
God’s Grace chases God’s Grace traced inside our eyelids –
see it in sincere smiles, in the sinister pretending they don’t feel It neither; see it in the sound that travels across a park as children laugh, laugh, laughing at the fat kid.
God’s Grace chases a covenant concealed in cellophane covered candy –
It is the gooey center.

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