Apotheosis

Inaugural Poem for Prison Poet Laureateship

The last time leaving gates like those... I exhaled... deeply

thinking I was releasing

every bit of suffering before

crossing the threshold

to supposed civilization

I stopped

held

...and crossed

inhaling

freedom in C-major

in hopes my lungs didn't resonate

the tone of razor-wire into the atmosphere

to fall like acid rain on the heads of hippies

two calendars and a law library later, I'm recounting to a friend

see, dad was an atheist

mom, a catholic

I, an agnostic

I don't fundamentally doubt the notion

of immortality or the existence of god,

I just doubt anything or anyone

on this side of the grave can explain them

Constantino Brumidi may have supposed it possible

when he titled his fresco of a founding father

"Apotheosis..."

cracking the cocoon of divinity

and just like all of you....

I doubt that guy too

especially guys like Brumidi

who'd probably mistake purgatory for hell

if it's only one shade of gray

the shade of prison

subconsciously whispered

into the soul's ear, saying,

"after all this, I don't know...

if heaven really does have gates

that might not necessarily be the best place for me"

but for a moment, take a second to pretend

let's just pretend apotheosis

and understanding god

is as possible as trusting someone....

has never actually been

let's just imagine this whole room

uncoiled into existence from

the barbed-wire I never exhaled

and my words

are a way to think

not fill space on an empty donation plate

Maybe...

Prior to this...

the only sole searching I did

wasn't for Nikes, J's, or Chucks

and my own mysticism wasn't stuck in a mess, as if

before entering this realm, I missed a sign that read,

"Welcome to Life

Beware

of the Dogmatic Dumps

in Creation's front lawn"

perhaps I would've reached a rationale

that gods don't need believers

they create them

and a thief

shouldn't steal possessions

society's materialism will miss

rather, steal their hearts, minds,

and souls; it's rare

they'll miss even one of those

what if...

this planet is nothing but the pineal gland

to god's big beautiful brain, and we are

all the thoughts it hasn't gotten under control yet

or that we are actually terrified

of having a competition

with its third eye

don't blink...

because maybe

it's the last breath of a cosmic suicide

and every black hole is a void

starving to fill the emptiness it feels

and there is a chance...

that we are its imaginary friends

the voices in its head screaming, "Yes!

immortality is only found

in the happiness between the clasp of a couple's tangled hands,

resting in the reflections of drops on shot glass bottoms amongst friends,

or in the slightest intake of breath sustaining an awakening dream"

I guess...

the fountain of youth should be taken in small sips

and the longer you can swish those moments

around your conscious understanding of appreciation

the younger you'll remain...

and what if

realizing all this

is apotheosis?

the next time I cross that fence

I'll play suffering

in the breath of G-sharp

in hopes the tone of prison

condensates into clouds of compassion

dropping Brumidi's sanguinity into the twisted thoughts of men

who've never nourished the seed of divinity that lays within

hoping... it will grow

because maybe... just maybe

god prays too...

and its...

 have gone unpainted