“god is the existence of wondering if you’re very special.” nice one Cerebella…

Homemade bread has something to be said for it…maybe we can find a Newman’s Own blend (God bless him)…no man, no man, can eat 50 wonder breads!

‘Fiery extispicy’ indeed. i have more than once imitated that recorded Wal-mart anti-theft preamble: “We’re sorry. you have activated Wal-Mart’s …” which is usually preceded by an ominous ‘BLEEP’ causing one to shit their pants. HaHa.

…the sacred and profane mix for a humorous blend. Thx. I’m gonna keep re-reading this and save it for poetry reading at Literary Lion in S’ville.

Walk the aisle,
Passed the heady bitumen blends
And preserves,
Therein interred the loaves.
Wrapped in dunning shrouds
Dated, tied, and stacked.

The hundreds lay bagged
With fenestral transparencies.
Under all thru-lashed and
Bound by colored twine
To announce the ferial.

Dead behind slid millstone,
Patient flies are serried in a web.
Drying to made-stale bread
The husks, drip wanting, bereft of wonder.

Behind those feretory panes
Mumbled ripples thunder and drum
Of an onerous dun.

For one heart arrears in exaction.
Averred tapping of misted droplets
Pool unseen in seeping carmine ravines
Flushing toward empty impatient crags.
Railed sky flashing before the sound
In a dark and swirling neon of forgetting.

Flash now like a fiery extispicy.
Out of time, infrasound rumbles.
Crack the timbrel and horns in contest
To announce an epiphany like Saul.
As three days past, the bread renewed.

Then retold, recounted, revived
On crystal shores and by Bethsaida’s (also Magdala’s) bank
Stepping out onto all tympanums.
Wholly washed hands bear the scar.
Sanitary wipes make them clean.

Held up thenal clerestory in testimony,
To a triumphant innocence.
The Confluence of History walks on.
Passing through the shortest line
Toward clearing the gates unmolested.

“We’re sorry. You have activated Wal-Mart’s inventory control system. Please step back, and an associate will help you”
Peter in awkward deference stumbles,
The surface not low enough to bow,
Call it faltered faith, on water all rocks sink.
Herein, He lends to stoop Himself
And fishes out new bound baptized hands
A crest apart and praying.

On Temple Mounts, Aboucais, Ararat,
Nebo, at Moriah and Quarantania
Yahweh-yireh in a raging tangent hammer
Forges implements of aqedah
And quenches the enrapt tempering.

Dead on a monger’s slab
Basketed, tied as fillet in paper
To be served en masse with wine sop
All the flesh, a dripping gift of life.

As three days pass, as birthed Sun then Moon
Again retold, recounted, revived
Across the blade’s asymptote and between.

The neck and stayed hand
Averted into bramble binding another.
This relict stone owed wethering
Calms a ravenously due delectation.
So Shepard’s mavericks fulfill the need
For blood and loaves and seed.

Thanks for comments, you gotta check out old movie called ‘Career Opportunities’ where main character is night clean-up guy for Target and goes roller skating thru store in women’s undergarments…a must see for those aware of our ‘commercial-existential’ dilemma.