White-faced
face peeled, skin on asphalt,
defaulted in this holy of holies
rip the curtain,
cross the altar,
sacrifice the scarred,
keep Caesar out, You have no place here,
Heaven, iconically, confesses to keep going despite this
blizzard whipped, blinding snow.
the warm tropical water scrapes the scales
needling another pilgrim to confess.
When on the mountain
When on the mountain,
I know I am living for You
just maybe, not everyday.
When in the valley,
suspect, dark, done for
just want to pronounce Your name.
On that knob, hallow to my heart
I cried serving–undeservingly
washing familiar sandals that walked close by,
begging, “Come tear my bread today.”
Wet wall
Sound rebounds from the dry wall around,
A wet wall of worship resounds
Absorbing priorities like water to cacti.
Dry mouths and wet eyes don’t dilute my
Scummy spumes, putrid, yearning for purity:
Drilled on our demigod devotion bowed to daily.
We always move standing in one place,
sick n’ pale; faltering in Your face.
Squinting to see, struggling to focus
Through joy and shame frothed sobs of mucus.
Another rock star to sing to be autographing?
No! Your veins splash soap smothering those below bathing.
Pour through the ceiling from the sudsy sky.
Intense terms lie, intense lives testify.