"...this saddens me because celestial lies are my favorite lies."
i don't believe in a soul - the word, in fact, makes me wince. i read a poem that said the soul is a godless janitor - i have this gut twisting feeling - if i had a soul, believed in a soul - mine would be my mother. my mother - driving the station wagon, swatting my hand from the radio dial - my mother disgusted by my cigarette breath and blue-collar boyfriends - my mother who says she runs background checks on each of them - that station wagon we drive to the beach - and she controls the automatic locks - my mother/ my soul lectures me over and over about the worst of what is to come - i reach for the radio - and watch my soul, her face, tighten - "you are like a hurricane/ there's storm in your eyes..." she turns it off - no matter on earth or eternity - i want a seance with william james - i want an exorcism from father damien - i want to be dust, dusted and tossed out - how did we get so tangled up? - now i feel guilty for rejecting you - for wanting you cast out - of course this is the ongoing -i will call i will check in i will listen to your stories and today's version of our entwined past and we go on and on -your lies my lies - depending on who is talking and who is last to hang up