Saturday, 6 October 2012
Losing my Religion
One night in the nineteen seventies,
I invited Jesus into my frost-brown heart,
but I think the invitation still stands
stiffly on his heavenly mantelpiece.
It seems he just wasn’t that into me,
even though I’d given everything up;
all the atheism and the not believing
in resurrection and his body and blood.
One night in the nineteen nineties,
I started chanting like Tina Turner,
scrubbing toilets to transform my life,
making causes to change effects
of causes made in other lives or this.
And now I just have relics. A museum
of faith. I stand guard now, wistfully
handling the exhibits sometimes.
yup it's a very young Michael Stipe.