A Wide-Veering Paraphrase of Psalm 83

A Wide-Veering Paraphrase of Psalm 83

 (“God, don’t shut me out; don’t give me the silent treatment, O God.” Psalm 83:1)

Because the rants in my head cannot be caught
by the better traps invented by those with their noses in the air.
They talk about faith as if it is
a toy
retrieved from the vinyl toy-box in the corner,
tan and half the size of a coffin with a real cowboy
on the front
with the horse rearing high
and six-guns in the air. I used to think that I would
invent
a special ray that could find any misplaced toy
I spent more than an hour searching for.

But, those people in the corner, see them?
Usually covered completely by darkness, the molasses
drips from forehead to shadow while they forge their
plots and hope the precious ones forget
the graces of Divine remembrance. They hope
to wipe out the Name.

I couldn’t ever get them to join me for a party;
piñatas and punch; duck, duck, goose; losing the blindfold
during donkey-tale pinning; spinning cotton candy with
chocolate chip cupcakes and the final free-for-all;
squirt guns for all, ambushing the birthday boy until
drenched with the wrestling fun of barnyard boys.

But, I couldn’t ever get them to join me for a party.
They did, in perfect unison, plan pain for those whose
joy in innocence pushed them to unholy alliance.

I know You see more than I see, beneath the mean-streaks
the inhabit
the best bats in the belfry and worst golden eggs laid for
the aristocracy. I know You hear the silence more than
the words I partially miss; the switched circuits that turn
plowshares into swords before it dawns upon the inhabitants
a better use for metal and forges.

Don’t be silent when the scraggly chins demand a command performance
before their estimate rises.
Be not blind to the prosecution of which hides its own transgression beneath
black robes of position and blubber. They use their gavels to clobber
the treasured ones who swath the world outside the lines with joy.

And yet, only let them see (make me mean it, please), You, my own joy,
unharmed, yet humbled, whose Name is Higher than our rosters
of disproven genealogy.

Serenity.