Miss Lonelyhearts Swallows the Fat Thumb
I smile, you ask why;
I reply, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because war,” you sigh,
“and murders and rapists,
along with other such acids
thrown in other such faces.”
I feel the Apple expand in my throat,
ready to vibrate and sing its Knowledge
throughout my body and yours,
the knowledge of our obligation to shine,
but I also feel something restricting it,
or at least trying to restrict it.
It’s your hand, the rootless and desperate hand
of your cynicism, resorting to psychic violence
to fortify itself against me
and the perceived attack of my hopefulness.
“What is there to smile about in this world?”
Your thumb tries to peel my fruitful throat
and expose it to appraisal and rot;
your face reminds me of that time you scoffed
that you thought your fingers were fat.
I swallow the tangle of fruit and flesh,
and it drops to the place in me where nothing is bad;
it metabolizes in the fiery iron of my blood,
and it ignites my golden delicious faith in Love,
in its kindness to beggars and redemption of villains.
Heart, brain and breath unite to shine a holy carbon:
“I’ve decided it’s impossible for me not to believe,
impossible not to have faith.”
“Faith in what?” you ask, “belief in what?”
But you’ve already decided my answer won’t satisfy you.
You cannot force your faith into someone else’s heart; faith must develop from within. I personally believe that everyone in the world is inherently good but a lot of people don’t know themselves well enough to realize that yet.
Love always,
your Mister
P.S. – The title of this poem comes from Chapter 4 (“Miss Lonelyhearts and the Fat Thumb”) of Nathanael West’s Miss Lonelyhearts, the novella upon which this entire project is based.
Lonely Hearts Chapel 