What Judaism Is.
The room bows as one
from a collective belly button—
folding in half like origami paper.
We are connected by
an invisible line: For
generations past and to come
this was and is so.
For the free will to believe
that there is something
greater to give
this freewill
to—blind faith.
I shut my eyes
while everyone
around me sings.
The leader of prayers?
She lost her soul years ago.
Sounds only travels
through her nasal cavity
not her heart.
I can’t butcher
heart like that so I don’t
move my lips.
I close my eyes
because darkness
feels more like religion
should—unknown.
When I open my eyes
I see politics.
Harold watches Judy’s
wide ass sway while
she prays.
The old Russian
in the back always
has his lingering solo.
The Rabbi’s daughter
is a dyke.
I close my eyes
because there,
I can make my own religion,
and in this world
a god slips inside of me
and resides there in the warmth
until its time for
a second coming.
On a certain date
carefully calculated by
the fanatics inside of me,
I will burst into
a thousand shards of glass.
And this is supposed
to mean something.
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