Bad Dream?

To those who can preach only
what is printed in their pamphlets
I would whisper that what they are
outshouts their boring bullhorned dogma

Who sings me songs of Edens green –
or was that a frog croaking?

To swing the machete, I followed the arc
of the orangutan, although fat flies
and the stinging of who-knows-what
distracted vision
while nettles and thorns
hampered movement

but there was no lost garden –
just this unkind jungle
thick – dense
…and my shoulder
swelled like a
boulevard lamplight
….and my spine stiffened
to a crescent – shepherd’s crook

Could there ever be a clearing –
uninfested water?

Would there ever be dates –
or fruit of some nature –
not paid in blood and sacrifice?

I doubt it – and as I swim in penumbra
waiting for light now on the horizon
to sweep out the dusty night
I find that doubt is my most human attribute.

And even before the toe touches the slipper
I know I would parse my body like a sentence
just to pass the doubt around in holy communion




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