Claire longed for the apocalypse because she didn't want to die alone. She didn't want to die in the dark so the lamps in her trailer were always on. She was comforted by her well-lit kitchen. A few years ago, her laugh was a rattle, but now it had disappeared. She ate different kinds of food but it tasted like ashes.
The radio says :
When God's righteous fury rains down on this dusty and feverish world, the thirsty will be slaked.
There is a nightmare universe in my oven. I open it up and a black bird flies out and his beak cuts into the pimples on my shoulders. His claws rip out pea sized chunks of my neck. He always flies back into the oven. But he talks to me from there. He says he loves me. He says I am ashes. He says love turns people into ashes. Sometimes it's better to listen to him than to have him eating at me and sometimes its not.
The radio says:
Brothers, we are breathing in God's heat. The air under the sky shakes like boiling milk under its skin. Children in their innocence feel the shaking and think its the flutter of angel wings. Lovers in their lust think it's the churning of finger. But brothers I say to you today the Godly man in his thirst knows its the beating of God's rage--his cleansing rage. The ocean in its depths is dry with need for the lord. Women in their private folds and men in their private animals are dry and empty with need for the lord.
And then I am scared because I don't know if love turns you into ashes. The blackbird whispers to me. Sometimes I am desperate
In my weakness, in my soft moments when I am tired of my hot thirst, I yearn for God's whispers and love.
for his voice and I sleep on
There is no sin in that yearning. There is no shame. The pure
the floor in front of the oven. Sometimes I am
love of God
scared and
is always with you
disgusted
As you fall asleep you think the night is water you can breath--in the middle of an ocean--like what you breathed before you were born--in your mother's belly--you think you are breathing in God and you are right.
by his voice so I sleep
And then I swallow shame like hot stones and remember the pure love
in the bathtub
God's pure love that has become fury and my voice shakes with the air.
with wet sheets on top of me
even here I can feel our lord the air shakes under the sky like boiling milk under its skin small children in their innocence feel this shaking and go to sleep imagining the swallowing flutter of angel wings. lovers in their lust feel this shaking and imagine the spastic churning of fingers and breathing but only the Godly man in his thirst for justice knows God's rage. His fury will rain down on this dusty and feverish world and the Godly man's thirst will be slaked.
to prove that I am not burning.
my soft moments
there is no sin
you think the night is water you can breathe
the floor infront of the oven
is always with you
I swallow shame
this dusty and feverish world
boiling milk under its skin
