a rough morning

Those scattered laundry pieces about
bowled me over. Anger at underwear and piles
completely lifeless.
How is it that I can wake up to read the Bible and then
one long too familiar sight of something,
Completely unextraordinary like nothing more than
yesterday
About threw me half way across the room
with language I can't put down on paper.

"Everything always works out somehow"
Sometimes it makes me want to slam a hard door
open, or closed. I'm not quite sure.

Giving, giving, giving, I give.
Giving everything including blame,
including complaint, including love without
direction.
Giving except - credit. I take that.

It is worse to sin
but worse still is to look sin in the eye and
say it anyway.

Phone call after errand phone call
trying to sort out the mess since
stuff won't pick itself up and move.
That suitcase doesn't care if it stays empty forever.
But I do. Sometimes I wish
I was like the suitcase.
Filled with space instead of
worry. Anger when everyone else seems
filled with lightness
"It'll all work out somehow"
and I am chucked full
overstuffed even
with an uncontrollable need for
control.
Funny, it seems
that the uncontrollable part
is the only thing I can't control.

Maybe I can't find the humor because
the humor of it is
My lack of it.

Microscope to telescope
take it easy or take charge,
I can't really figure any of it out today.
God gave me the suitcase
now I wonder
how I will fill it.
With the lifeless stuff
or, with life itself.