August Poem 10: Rise and Fade

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

Of subtextually.

Her birthday or near.

 

We experienced

Fulfilling of prophecy

Ending the Red Death.

 

Covering bodies

In ash and fragrant spices

That burn and consume.

 

Smokes that rise and fade

Lifting the spirit, the dead

Giving safe passage.

August Poem 1: Today in Religious News

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.

July Poem 23: The Chugging Machine

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.

July Poem 21: God’s Eye

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.

July Poem 15: Do you Live in Hell?… Because I Think You’re the Devil

If there is no god

But 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?