god

[Weeded]

dale,
there are parts of this that are absolutely amazing, but it takes a while to get there, notes below,
mike

god
 
I hold my breathe.
I twist my tongue inside my mouth, as
I exert just the right amount of pressure on the syringe.
I push it down onto the cotton lying in the spoon.
I slowly pull back on the plunger.
 My breath goes out as the fluid
slowly steals its way up the hollow plastic shaft,
a release that is almost orgasmic:
anticipation of what is to come.
I lay the needle carefully aside,
I don’t want to catch the point on anything and dull it.
I take out one of my several bandannas.
I quickly, but carefully, wrap it around my left arm.
I tie it in a slip knot that
I can release by pulling it with my teeth.
 
My breaths coming faster,
short and controlled,
in the top of my lungs.
I open and close my left fist.
I watch, fascinated, as  the vein rises above the skin.
I rub my finger up and down the vein,
I caress it, as a lover would caress a nipple.
I pick up the paper square that encloses the alcohol swab.
I tear it open with my teeth. Removing the swab,
I run it up and down the vein.  Ritualistically,
I prepare the vessel to receive the holy sacrament. These first two stanzas feel completely unneeded. Very prose-y, very boring when compared the latter stanzas. I feel as if these sort of introductory stanzas could be compacted into three or four lines.
 
I am a fastidious acolyte, not because This line is very truthful, its amazing how many dopeheads are well dope-heads at most everything except dope. They cant tell you who is running for president but they can describe chemical properties, tell you all about their favorite brand of syringe, etc.
I am naturally so, but, at the moment,
I have the time, and at the moment, I get a sense of the 'in the moment' cliche being alluded to very strongly here with the repetition in lines, don't quite find it necessary however
I have the better vestments of my religion.
I have sterile saline to wet down the powder.
I have clean cotton through which to strain it and,
I have a sharp new syringe in which to put it.
 
In the past,
I have used the water out of toilets to wet it down .
I have used cotton out of the butt of a used cigarette.
I have used my own spit to wipe the dirt off my arm. The authenticity in these lines provide a strength to this poem that is unparallelled, good to know the narrator knows what hes talking about
I have sharpened a dull, much used needle, on a book of matches, to get it sharp enough, to pierce my skin:
a mini-crucifixion,
A stigmata from and for my god. Damn
 
I need no Romans, nor a Pilot, nor a Judas.
I am a willing sacrifice,
I have sacrificed everything for my god.
I have been the lowly worshiper, begging for scraps, and
I have been the high priest. At those times, when
I have the powder…the other worshipers come to me. My knowledge of meter is vastly inferior so I wont even try to critique you on that, but rhythym here is... different. Not quite feelin' the end rhyme
They beg my blessing, willing to do whatever penance
I might set for them, so that they might receive
the holy sacrament. I feel like 'for' is a bit erm, forceful. Again my knowledge on meter is shit but maybe remove 'for,' or perhaps replace it with unto (the archaism may be acceptable, here.)
Women give me their bodies in whatever way
I demand.
They would give me their first born, if
I required it. When
I have the powder,
I have the power of a god: hmm, not sure how I feel about this. It's a clever play on words, the poem is very obvious in what it's about, but the way these two lines are worded just feels a bit oversimplified.
I can command anything, and my will, will be done.
The followers of my god are faithful, faithful unto death. No other religion demands, or receives, such devotion. This is an awesome idea, but these lines feel a bit more like tell than show.
I watch as the sterile water snakes [b/b]Nice.[/b]
its way up through the golden liquid
in the hard, hollow, plastic tube of the syringe.
I love to watch it rise slowly up through the yellowish oil: Yellow oil transmuted from white powder, a transfiguration of the mundane into the ecstatic.
I take the needle, and gently, slowly,
I slide it into the vein.
I pull back on the plunger.
I see the blood spurt up into the pale yellow oil.
I pull the bandanna with my teeth,
releasing the pent-up pressure from my heart.
I push the plunger down, discharging the yellowish liquid into the red pulsing blood of my vein. This literally makes me cringe, to which I say job well done
For a brief and fleeting moment,
as ether-vapor hits the back of my throat,
as a surging wave rolls through my skull,
I come face to face with my god.
We are joined in an ecstatic melding. Then,
I fall into the depressive after-glow of the union,
I am already anticipating the next time. Amazing ending.        
 
erthona
 
©1996

Thanks for sharing, I really like this one,
mike