They of the long death.
Those bringing the death carpet.
The sulfur people.
They are the strange ones.
Ash and bone and polished shards
Woven in fabric.
They wear their beliefs
Like the gathers of their lands
Taken from the earth.
Chanting they swing. Their
Noxious censors billowing.
Staining the skies black.
Stagnant as Latin,
Sattva Casetti was dead.
Eighty-four and smoke.
The chugging machine
Her birthday or near.
Fulfilling of prophecy
Ending the Red Death.
In ash and fragrant spices
That burn and consume.
Smokes that rise and fade
Lifting the spirit, the dead
Giving safe passage.
Elisha expressed his deepest remorse.
Eaten by bears too harsh a punishment.
Jesus in for questioning on
Reports that Lazarus faked his own death.
God to be held up as a deadbeat dad.
Mary claims she never received a dime.
One family nets world’s largest welfare check:
Government to revoke tax-free status
Of each Christian, Muslim, and Jewish church
In that historians have shown that God
And Abraham conspired to defraud.
He had children both by wife and handmaid.
Multiple nations under one head of
Household. On one welfare account.
Were lit, it would curl out in a ripping
Unevenly achieved moksha forth from.
And even broadly the universe would
As the dog that stands in a hill of ants.
Sparks, smoke, scraggly brush. The chugging machine.
Jokes at work without getting fired for
Black and red ripped ends. Smoke it as if it
Were angry fire that ants unblinkingly
Allow. Homemade sausage native of weeds
Punctuated by work as numb plants that
Swarm up my leg stinging me around pine,
Oak, and sweetgum giving way to red fields.
But when sparks and ash spewed thump-thump-thump from,
Brahman was the sound sparks and ash don’t say.
Ridding the winds of Hurricane Matthew.
A felt vibration of wind, in a word.
Ephemeral slight of meaningless wind.
Up from the rock strewn friction chips signaled
Itself relax. Those who escaped the rock
Were lost. For my part, I swam. On that rock,
The stone music led and had envisioned
The deep, the stone. This was the cornerstone
If the cornerstone happened. The white line
In the water, to clean his catch on man,
God’s eyes watered the dew point like a ghost,
Took water, and rose up the stately streets
Between the high wave that rose up in him
In the blowing in off the lapping waves.
It was just a collection of platitudes.
The silken fabric that clung
To the fortune cookies
That my father insisted would open,
That he used to open
So many women’s blouses.
Even with the best passages memorized,
He could not
Understand the stand
Taken to take him
As your God before me.
If there is no god
Is God an Atheist
Or does he worship himself?
And if God is an Atheist,
Are you prescribed by God
To kill God?
And if you are prescribed to kill God,
Does that make you the adversary?