Sunday, May 01, 2005

Where We May Find the Space of Doubt

Not to be disturbed they

hang by every red word;

every bloodless turn, every newsboy’s shirt

is dirty communion,

the right of the rites of heavy nights and springtime.

At bed, my eyes wrestle,

having weighted and dead discussions

like the ones that must’ve been shared between

judas (iscariot) and simon (the zealot)

between the eyes:

was he not the one?

did i not leave all to follow?

is he not now followed by goyem and harlots thieves killing sinners and uncircumcised all?

Each question finds his answer

between the eyes:

dead for one, hanging from a rope in a land bought to bury the goyem and harlots thieves killing sinners and uncircumcised all.

alive for the other. alive and always alive and forever alive.

2 comments:

  1. *fingersnaps*

    This is quite the poem. I read it last night and it went over my head, but then I read it this morning and it all makes sense.

    "every bloodless turn, every newsboy’s shirt

    is dirty communion,

    the right of the rites of heavy nights and springtime."

    I love those lines.

    ReplyDelete
  2. thank you, thank you.

    i'll be here all week.

    ReplyDelete

Be kind. Rewind.