Ryan Bradley The Human Impression Mother and Father never knew God, They never felt the touch of faith, But I saw them taking turns Lying on the bed in the cookie-cutter shape of Christ And spewing the typical politics; It was not flesh and blood It was skin and bones, Fractured and atrophied bone soup Eating one love, a spoonful at a time, Because the fingernails left their claw-mark imprints, This lust, bought at marked-down prices The same as religiosity, but more attractive, From then on the house shook with climax, The whole street blurred out of focus And idols broke when they fell, But clouds walked the sky just as before, It was nothing but the human impact Again and again animals painted in the sky, Picking piety over penitence once and forever, Again and again the impact was human; Justified only in mortality, like me. Jazz This, Jazz that   Dimmed lights You can hear Her singing, Gravel in the microphone Soothing the a.m. With slipping grooves Deliberate in black and white, She speaks Right to your soul As you drink Your colorless coffee And gin.