Conversation with Jesus

I saw Jesus walking up the hill,

He said, "Go on without me, I'll be here when you get back."

and then he climbed up on his cross, one limb at a time

and hung out, waiting for the return of the crowds.

And we all went back to college, 

to tiny apartments paid for by our middle-class parents,

where we hung posters of 60's icons up on our walls and

burned nag champa and drank grain alcohol til we threw-up on our tie-dyed tapestries.

Then we stayed up past our bedtimes around open refrigerators, 
letting the cold air escape, 

and discussed theories about foreign policy and oil and capitalism 

and other things we didn't understand,

and we passed the joint around until it was nothing but ash in our hands.

But me, I turned my radio up and rolled down my window

and shaved off all my hair, started calling myself Diane and

tried to go somewhere I wouldn't recognize myself for a little while.

I waved to Jesus on His cross and He said, "See ya soon."

In the fields under the Moon

trying to find myself amongst all those exploded little particles of light.

I thought I saw you in my reflection, out on the edge where the tall grasses whisper against the wind,

but you were just a trick of shadows and air.

I returned hot on your heels, like a blood hound on the trail 

and without missing a beat, ran face first into a brick wall of sorrows

with your name tagged all over it in suburban child spray paint.

With nothing but time on your hands, and me with never enough time on my side.

Jesus was still chilling, called down to me from His perch, 

"Why don't you try something different?" and I told Him 

I didn't know what I had, so I didn't know what I was missing.

He said to keep looking, and He'd let me know what happened while I was gone.

All the while the people were dancing in the square

banners flying, flowers in their hair, the band was playing brightly

and the hours wound down to nothing but fire and sparks and

me and Jesus, we were no where to be seen, but they were all still dancing in the streets.

And in the morning-after light, on our way to coffee grounds and 

The Grind, and the grim of the grin above the rim of our ugly mugs, 

We shuffle like ghosts in the mist, in the midst of what we missed and

who we miss the most. The Father, Son and Holy Rollers...

I rolled over, and pulled over, to pump my brakes and stay awake.

With a fist full of tears, I rest my weary gears.

Feels like we've been walking away for years and years at a time, 

never quite yours, and you were never quite mine.

"It was a gamble," said the thief at His side.

A couple of Dudes with nothing left to hide, I honk as I drive by.

Jesus waves at me from far away and I pull into the parking lot of my local Mom-and-Pop-Shop. 

Under the street lights, He tells me, tonight, it's alright.