I just +

I just +

(“Don’t make treaties with the people there, or you will soon find yourselves worshiping their gods and taking part in their sacrificial meals.” Exodus 34:15)

We remain adolescents with hormones racing,
lust-struck by promises of magic-poof on the stage
of our abracadabras.

Let a $ wink at me and I pursue it hotly,
when the *s are brightest, my thinking becomes dull,
I ask no ? about the truth, see no sleight-of-hand suggestions,
I just +  to the gallery = to my searing imagination.

Worst of all I put my pinups on my altar-wall,
bibles and Buddha and Trump and Bikini-ed
await my worship. I’ve received the invitations
and sent the RSVPs, my signature guaranteeing
my devoted attendance.

Pimped out to the sham-hungry, I am glutted
banquet to banquet.
Shorthand allurance has detoured past my best senses
so I devour every fragrant idol; enticement shrouded
by religious dialect.

I make no decisions, just follow the mental secretions
that baffle faith seeking merely truth, not crushes.
We have made a teen idol of the Universe Designer
and
a personal prom-date of the Eternal Lover,
then choose to marry (how fickle and airy)
the one who makes our blood run hot

And leave behind the One whose Blood ran full
before we had a single desire to call our own.