In My Tidy House
The Word of God
lies stuck against the back
of My Broom Closet —
It, The Word, is in poster form
tucked away
for only Those Who
dare to clean
or to hang up an extra coat —
for My Closet
holds a rod
The Scraggly Apple
is Dead Butt Eye am Alive
to know It fully
How Do You Get To Be Anything
Without Being A Wanna-be?
NOTE: Eye am already
everything I have ever
wanted to Be —
except a helicopter pilot —
not YET
Every Woman Knows
Prostitution is Marriage
With Every Bed Made
We Come From The Light
Of The Star Called Sun & Moon
Why? We Must Know Why
EYE
DO
PRECISION
WORK
In My Favourite Restaurant
Eye overheard The Waiter
Talking to The Cook:
“How can You have time
for God and Your Wife?”
Eye called out from My Booth:
“What if God and Your Wife
are One and The Same?”
How stable are We?
As paint dries colour wrinkles
collapses even
Eye can have My Church
here, hear upon The Beach
I can walk, wake with The Birds
in the social structure of solitude
in the company of Life
Eye can shine with The New Sun
My Paintings are loose
dripping like punctured abcess
colours even fall
Joanna Gilman Hyde 