scratch

I suspect that life
isn't all it's cracked up to be

that eternity is in a leaf
wrapped around my finger
or your arms wrapped around me
or even jesus

we've taken what we think He is
and stretched it out
ripping it like stray dogs
worrying and licking
some choice road kill
we all have our little spitty-wet piece of God

and why do I treat Him
like an old scratch n' sniff sticker
on my third-grade lunch box?
See how cool He is,
stuck there next to
Buck Rogers in the 21st Century,
shiny plastic smile,
too-white teeth

if I need you I'll scratch scratch scratch
you smell like rain and earth,
blood and rusty, rusty nails and love

however,
if I'm not hungry
I'll put the lunch box away,
there on a shelf
in the back of my head but

you want me to scratch that itch, don't you?

you want me to be ever hungry,
starving for you,
the Holy Spirit as tapeworm
tickling my soul
if I wave some Communion bread and wine
in front of my mouth,
will you come up to dine?

nothing I say will dissuade you.

you want me to scratch that itch,
and it's like thinking about yawning,
you know I'll yawn

you know I'll scratch