All of the sudden, I want you to crash into me.
If that train careened into me,
nothing, not a thing, would be wrong.
You give me
of the way you love the whole universe.
When I start to feel love,
I suddenly feel…an immense ocean of lack.
It burns sweet and pulls hard.
It’s not a lacking at all is it?
That sweet burn and hard pull
is Your desire to play as every last atom in the universe,
You made infinity to pleasure yourself, didn’t you.
How much you love, I doubt I’ll ever know,
and just a taste of it turns my world inside out.
You keep sending me postcards lately,
snapshots in time.
A tree I’ve driven past a hundred times
is suddenly blooming still in timestop,
effulgent in all its beautiful, raucous
White blossoms say “Hello!” to me as they fall in stillmotion.
A chime, unringing, grabs my attention,
and the world in the misty morning stands still yet again
as you send me another postcard.
What if You wrote me a whole letter?
I might lose my fucking mind.
I might stop going to work.
I might stop doing my duty.
I might stop talking.
I might stop hating and fighting.
That’s scary, and you know that, too, don’t you?
You’re hinting at me.
I’m starting to catch your drift.
The stories I tell myself, the stories I told,
and clung on to, don’t matter.
It could all be so easy,
so mindnumbingly simple,
if I just let it be.
If you blast my mind away,
I’ll run through town smashing your idols,
and then we’ll be Even.
I love the postcards,
but I want you to know I’m scared,
yet curious as always.
So if you fire the final shot,
please do this gently, with me on board,
when the time is right,
with the love you love the whole universe with.