sins of a father (gods and kings and men of all kinds)

sins of a father (gods and kings and men of all kinds)

to Neil Gaiman

and if I choose your sanctuary
I want to wash you with my hair.
I want to drink of sacred fountains
and find the riches hidden there

—“Be Mine,” New Adventures in High-Fi, REM

Pull out his eyes,

Apologize,

Apologize. . .

—Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce

i don’t believe in God

the way most people do

gods are another matter

although mostly semantics

semantics is a god in fact

with no need for a capital “g”

(and don’t discount the “man”

hidden in plain sight in the middle)

what do words mean when typed

uttered thought or projected by hand?

and how do they dissemble the air

into molecules that also craft water?

gods oxygen diction and syntax

are not child’s play or things for conjuring

but apologies coaxed after i fall to my knees

from the staff cracked in anger across my shins

clutched by the only people i have truly loved

pushed to the edge of murder and burning bridges

by the sins of a father blinded by fog and ash and sirens

stripping the words from his aging mind and heart and soul

•

i trusted the mirror

reflection

i never looked

at your eyes

but that isn’t true

i stared inside

because i love you

beyond love

and failed to see me

shining there

like a madman or demon

bound by chains

and swinging a maul

in a purple ache

•

gods and kings and men of all kinds

have counted on absolution contrition and good intentions

it is the stuff of wars and tidal waves

that leaves children and women smoldering among the wreckage

yes the sins of heedless fathers are taxing

borne like chain mail or rusting armor by soldiers in servitude

indentured betrothed cloistered anchoritic

because it is their lot to be subsumed by billowing exothermic passion

•

fire depends on incantation

oxygen and kindling

things loved by gods and kings and men of all kinds

who stare at the flames

and fail to see their hands in the orange glow before them

or hear the hissing

of their names that begs to be heard like a child or a lover

•

men love words

and the projection of their own monologues

words measured

like pillars anchored beneath the rising brine

and afterward

apologies and explanations and good intentions

words like

collateral sorry but while looking you in the eyes

but gods and kings and men of all kinds have never listened

apologies must reach beyond words gold-plated and polished

apologies are not tourniquets kisses stitches or kabuki masks

drizzled like honey and sprinkled like cinnamon or faerie dust

•

i will wash your hair

and dry it with a blue towel

i will kneel before you

untie the straps of your shoes

i will wash your feet

and dry them with a blue towel

these things done and not spoken

duties of gods and kings and men of all kinds

baptized by sin sparking your anger

please pardon the soot on my hands and face