belief systems

The Graffiti Fingers of the Theology Student
- James Schevill

As deadbeats pass from bar to can,
I read on the chipped wall
Deep in the skins of graffiti:
"God Is Dead" -- Nietzche
Underneath, some cripple has scribbled:
"Nietzche Is Dead" -- God
Another lost graffiti artist
Has drawn a picture of God naked,
Dirty hippie beard, long hair,
Drifting bell-like tongue
Where archaic wonders, Greek, Latin
Hebrew, ring in silent majesty.
Two layers up, a rocket soars
In lift-off of space visions,
overkill, afterburner, doomsday tape,
Escalation, go-reflex for megadeath. . .
I drew the hippie god. I drew the rocket.
I am the carver of pornographic signs
Celebrating the death of God.
Something is growing in me, root
cracking through the city's walled-in poverty.
Driven out by doubt, I walk at night
Seeking to lose the sky in grey districts.
I stumble over discarded drunks
Before they're tossed into the wagon
For their evening log-pile to jail.
I put my hand on thighs of whores.
I fight off cripples on crutches
Blocking my way, demanding money,
I end up at this drifter's bar
Where eyes stare looking for a fix.
"The enormity of evil is crushing me."
Tolstoy said, "driving me to doubt everything."
But evil is still brilliant to me,
Floating in this haze like malignant diamonds.
When I learn to read everything in the graffiti,
My fingers will start their automatic writing,
Shoot through the roots of doubt in fire,
Write the great, sacrificial handwriting of blood
On walls to shine in new graffiti revelations.