I think I met my Jesus tonight,

offering life,

‘shake your bones, why not?’ he says,

why not?

Leave immortality to the suffering fools.

Live now, shake bones, why not?

Live in dazzling twilight kisses and soak in the night,

a night that mutters with the energy of humanity’s timeless rhythm.

I think I met my Jesus of reaching rhythmic arms,

‘shake your bones, why not?’ he says,

why not?

He accepts the slices of souls on offer with an open heart,

as I struggle to keep up,

the moon rises, new and blue, in me.

Refreshment of a soul inspired.

But, as if to not let me get carried away,

a bleak white wall stares at me from across the street.

Beneath it, a circling mental patient,

wearing thin her souls,

walking in the endless avenue.

And lonely, lost looking, languid men dine in the Oceanic café, never talking,

and domestics break out into the street, dissolving the veneer of order.

No more illusion.

Are we not all the world’s mental patients wearing thin our souls?

Walking endless searching circles in places we don’t really understand,

in places where we may only relate to our absence of belonging.

We have no one left to pray to,

we have made ourselves our own unworthy angels,

And as the clock on my wall unceremoniously reels in the future,

I wonder if I met my Jesus tonight,

offering life,

‘shake your bones, why not?’

why not?

Leave immortality to the suffering fools.