I consider you following me on Twitter as a profession of faith and as an oath of love by J.D. Ferguson
I first found Christ drenched in Dramamine,
drugged
wallowing and
far from home
with not much to say but,
“It’s really nice to finally meet you.”
I was wearing a shirt bought at Target by a relative,
someone I don’t really remember,
with a card that might have said
“Thinking of you” in size 45 Veranda.
I haven’t had an original thought or a sense of direction
since the Carter administration,
when we tilted up our heads towards the clouds and found the
Swastika in an Alpaca’s fur,
a time when God might have have been on our side,
when I held myself to some sort of standard or sense of self that showed someone,
you,
me,
maybe,
that I was trying, that somewhere
failure and disillusionment
meant something
like I might actually be winning
like I might actually be okay
REMINDER:
Add,
“Xanax carved into a life-size replica of the South Tower
crashing through roof,
into house,
onto face”
to the list of ways I want
to
die.
____________________________________________________
J.D. Ferguson writes in a cold city in the middle of Wisconsin. He has a Twitter @justdferguson and blogs at www.caliperwake.com. He finds the internet lonely and wants to be your friend.
© 2013, Metazen.
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