Wish Jesus could’ve come in a flash
of flesh melding flesh for flesh for all we’re here for
and nothing more
but they so scared say
he came through the neatest arrangement of dry
no muss no fuss conception
shedding true believers of their best jiving stuff
and cursing us all to a damning salvation
bathed in a glory dimming
the harlot’s perpetual virginity in love.
Wish Jesus’ immaculation could’ve been
the most blessed jiving ‘jaculation
wresting us all from fear.
But no…it isn’t so something soul…
no sweet rolling liquid fullness
or bang bam zoom us all
into something more truly respectful
of the sacred soulful wonder fusing one with other
and making yet another
and then some, maybe even a nation
of lovers begetting lovers
ending war in a sometimes martial dance
refusing anything but final fusion.
Wish Jesus’ conception hadn’t been bound
to a story divorced from the wildness of the dance,
immaculately fretting us all into any song but the one,
the whimsical fierce guitar strumming us into wholeness,
singing us, us the song of surrender resisting the futility of shame, shame, shame.
Wish it were so something soul and then we’d all be free.
But it can be, can’t it? Immaculate conception is ancient. It is now. It is then and there when man or woman is penetrated by the creator spirit and a gestation supreme begins. The shame mentioned in this outpouring comes not from the work of an ancient alchemical process but from the distortion of sexuality by minds afraid of their own bodies, their own strumming potential…