Psycho-deli-c Jesus Shower Head



I dial up a Psychodelic Jesus shower head

In swallowing the last bit of cold cut combo

In meeting His soft, kind eyes, and darker wavy locks

I wonder if my Lord is hungry.

I’m still not full in spite of ham and cheese.

No lunch today for meeting needs,

and so I’m paying dues in hunger pangs

even after late, late lunching.

The shower head is fasting too,

not taking in

It’s spilling out,

giving, giving sweet salvation.

It’s Jesus after all! Who knew?

The other shower heads are plugged

with calcium deposits,

rendered useless and disposable in failed beliefs,

all dead and waiting lime away

unlike this new deluxe improved one

I am gazing at.

I take it in my hand and play it like a drum,

A padded, sound-proof studio

of solo repeated rifts

a muppet movie exclusive gift

in Animal-ing.

Then midstream mind-stream,

in choosing slower beats,

Decide to Click away

the Delta youtube advertisement

Replete of runs,

Amazing water features

not unlike my own.

Warm water rains and runs off a marble fountain

plays me as if a deep massaging geyser

and I perform my own delayed attempt

at praising chakras.

Stop your words,” I tell my throat.

Somehow my words are wiser, sweeter in their absence.

Unsaid, undemonstrated,

the meaning more profound and less diminished

in sighing ecstacy

Or else, Co2 side effects

Converge with mist and missed Misters

Missed opportunities

in proclamation of a family

of man and woman

of Roles

What’s proper here in having sex,

if in the climax, ends in keeping separate rooms?

Where everyone assumes the status quo,

Reality is…He snores.

What would anyone know of this thing,

or of this blessed showering

unless someone were brave enough to tell the story?

Or stupid enough.

Venn? The human race is good at comparing, competing, judging.

And what will other Utah counties do

in watching from the Summit

the Issue of 41 same-sex licenses

between Dec. 20 and Three Kings Day?

To follow suit, not likely.

Our county is unique.

Still, Religion will not easily forget

or turn the other cheek

in showering these stories.

What do I care in looking on from straight and narrow paths?

This is not me.

Or is it?

The white shower curtain looks more gray some days

and yellows on the bottom.


The butterflies have flown away.

And I have netted this netted thing for the last time

in possessing the strange new feeling

Only since I met and knew you

in a mermaid mind

Gaze falls on gauzy lace, soft and luscious lipstick.

Drops a weighted shower curtain hook in sliding open and slamming closed.

Slips and falls a loud accusatory PING!

Like makeup in a toothpaste dropping sink

Cuts through a wounded shower curtain dressing that won’t stay dressed.

It has almost come undone!

Did not fall completely though.

Spared the rod.

The child too ’til almost new again.

Just from the plastic package

No. Not so new now.

A once, all crisp and creased,

just mortgaged car smell,

like spring, and yesterdays before exquisite summer writing

This lost now to the maintenance of being good.

The hook and clasp cuts through the fog these days.

Through shower ringing Fiona Apple butter-knives

In spreading apple butter.

I love the smell, and feel and taste

of oil on backs and back-sides.

Careful….I am someone’s sweet knife wife.

The curtain is the gauzy type.

A wedding veil and vow. A death shroud in I’m not allowed.

And surely would cause hype if missionaries were to walk in,

or boys collecting offerings were to ring the bell.

Transparent in the looking in and looking out

All right to shower, but not allowed to touch.

I see too much and do too little toward perfection,

in asking what life’s all about.

Presume too much, and hide and seek exceptions to the rules.


I am getting saved

while buying high efficient, stainless steel appliances

and better work habits toward best practices.

Instead of high exposure nakedness in choosing not to ration,

I’m washing paper plates, and writing names on solo cups.

I’m filling and refilling waterbottles, instead of buying conveniences.

I think on this Initiatory

in cleaning up the language and the deeds

and clearing clogged drains of long blonde hairballs.

The greasy stinking sting tugs and strains.

Makes me quite insane at times.

And yet, I’m still found beautiful for Jesus.

My locks fall tight and curly from my head

Like a crown of thorns,

a tourniquet to thinking.

Slows blood flow toward dizzying in thinking nonsense

slows coveted improvement,

all plugged and reeking in extended work day writing.

Hot showers calm me down though

Prepare me for a drying and unfolding

A curing and a molding

Claylike robing

Enfolding me in warmth from a favorite heated towel rack.


I hang and fall with ease in warmer reaching hands

as if a child in a hooded towel.

Clean white sheets

In washing and anointing,

A brand of divine nature slathers oil

approvingly on every square inch of my body.

Removing stretch marks to a more appealing Pandora play list

Lifts me up to Holy, Holy, Holy and broken Hallelujahs.

I CAN do this.

The singing helps toward believing

Will it so, and sometimes grow this faith.

But in denying truth for vices, commit the greater sin

sometimes in lieing to myself.

Sometimes I’m holy though.

Have mercy Lord…

I’m burning up with flu.

I never knew I could be capable of things so good and bad and live to see it.

And even if I could find the thermometer, it is broken, in not registering.

I empathize this scientific thing and ph strips

that don’t engage to color changing.

I liken scriptures to myself.

I think on Nina Luz’s muse:

Ode to Beloved mosses, lichens.

I wonder if I’ve stepped on toes again

on fragile Big Eye endangered species too,

that take a hundred years to grow an inch of tundra

In saying and loving tons…destroy the thing I love the most,

with heavy reckless mukluks

Wreck that which is precious and unique.

Hear Yoda’s voice say hauntingly,

Won’t come back……what if the readers?”

What if they don’t come back?

What if you don’t come back?

I think around this point at length…

And then they do. And then you do,

in spite of all my fighting and rebellion.

You are near me

Like a Psycho-deli-c Jesus shower head

knowing and loving me

in spite of myself.


About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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