God and bullshit

How can I believe in "God" when I still live?
How can anyone even convince me of "God" or, worse, the goodness of "God" when I still breathe?
Mere mortals show more mercy. 
Worship makes me vomit.
"God" isn't dead. "God" never was.

"Delirium"

Let me die in the arms of Pauline, lost

in this drunken delirium: here we die, illusioned and pleasured.

Sores and aches are tomorrow’s reality, if they come at all;

sunshine will blight its own existence.

Let me lie and die with this whore tonight,

smothered in darkness and perfume, serenaded by

the music outside and the smell of this cramped VIP room.

Let me die with the taste of her, here where love does not exist;

I feel just her hands and see her face,

her lips red amid the darkness, her eyes

masking what may be true inside—disgust, indifference, whatever—

what does it matter? Let me die in her arms,

by the breath of this whore I adore,

her fake name and her fake emotions—in this fake intimacy,

this expression of life: it is a death that is wonderful,

perfumed and eternal in the arms of Pauline.

"Love in shadows"

Fall in love in the shadows:

she has no face. Her breath

and her perfume have no smell.

She is as distant as a dream,

almost as forgettable.

Touch her in darkness:

her eyes hide, her gaze bears no sympathy,

no love or derision.

Her face, faceless, bears no expression.

Her illusion leaves you in a momentary trance:

the dust and the noise outside allow you to forget.

Fall in love in silence:

her voice, wordless, carries no resemblance.

Her scent, empty, stirs no memories.

All is fresh, all is new, no emotions clued in.

Fall in love in the shadows:

There is no need to feel.

The dance itself is ephemeral.

To a Maryknoller ("Seen by Sunset")

This poem was originally titled "To a Maryknoller." I saw this unbelievable beautiful young woman in a Maryknoll (now Miriam College) uniform. I was young then as well. The poem came easily. I wonder what's become of her.

"Seen by Sunset"

Near sunset, modest winds exhale
A sigh upon your vision’s pair
And by their breath, soft waves unveil
The seduction of your hair.

By fading daylight, winds implore
That virgin tan your face confers
To sunlight’s swiftly closing door
To evening’s shade it then defers.

Your voice amid the twilight hush
Resembles rhythmic music’s touch;
You speak a whisper’s sensual blush
Your tone’s caress, no other such.

It's on you now

I've mourned for too long, too hard, too often.
Hopefully you'll be the one(s) mourning this time.