Grand Puba/Jason the Mason
Title Pending
Derek Hugen, 8-11-05
monsooned rainwater sleets the roadway,
reflecting the sun like fire.
alone, i walk from sunset,
and here,
in this place, a sort of dread,
a “picked-last-for-softball” feeling
lingers over me
weighting me down
like slippery black lines inside an abstract oil painting
and my heart beats back with 4/4 rhythm
triggers voice-overs,
recordings of my marriage vows to sin,
to hate, and to never
again
allow myself to feel the
crack of a heart
or sinking gut.
theological fact:
God can't love
if he's a know-it-all.
the two points are mutually exclusive like
fire and ice
melting down
love down to like,
like down to “just-put-up-with”
down to eventually “just-can't-even-stand-
to-be-in-the-same-universe-as”
and an aside:
(at this time, it might be worth noting that
my medications may not be fully stabilized).
q:
how can He claim me as a child,
protect me, smiling, shine glories
of His face down on me like
I do okay by Him?
And how can He not despise me?
a:
later on i'll hear it in a song
or read it in the last words that a
savior spoke in his death throws,
body convulsing, struggling
to force lungs grip air,
scream it at his own Father:
“My God, my God, why have
you forsaken me?”
collapsing, he
pulse the last beats of blood,
such that I know
i am despised. Such that I know
a price was paid,
present tense, the past and future fused in single
(sorry, keith).
it is a true price,
a “turned-countenance-from-me,”
“let-loose-His-wrath-and-thunderbolt-against-me”
sort of price.
And so i enjoy the reflection
in the rain. watch rivulets
crack on dark pavements.
I can know I am not judged by
these things still true within me.
i know the horrid price paid on each,
that each has past away, is
riding cowboy-style into
an overbearing, multicolored
sunset that hits dust at “just-
right-angles”
as if to end any movie by john ford . . . | 
