Love wants
to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all
our teacup talk of God.
If you had
the courage and
Could give
the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would
just drag you around the room
By your
hair,
Ripping from
your grip all those toys in the world
That bring
you no joy.
Love
sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to
rip to shreds
All your
erroneous notions of truth
That make
you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with
others,
Causing the
world to weep
On too many
fine days.
God wants to
manhandle us,
Lock us
inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice
His dropkick.
The Beloved
sometimes wants
To do us a
great favor:
Hold us
upside down
And shake
all the nonsense out.
But when we
hear
He is in
such a “playful drunken mood”
Most
everyone I know
Quickly
packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.
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