“For that which I work
I do not acknowledge
for not what I will
this I practise but
what I hate
this I do.”
Dance to that if you can.
Hello brother the Lord sang
Hello sister sang the younger man, listening
Too few stories for your life?
Her everybody day is a mystical playground
Song of grey fellowship with the humans—
She is dead or rather not dead but over there
Dancing with the dead in grey festival with shades
While he is speaking her dance and timbre
Making good the promise of news even if it is letters
NYKPDLMVRE over and over like the name of god
Or the god breath and mantra of her steps.
The Bible on this phone has a paywall of China
Of porcelain that nobody breaks but ancient geeks:
If only love were all you needed he would possess just one
And never have to read again.
“Come Lord she’s right beneath both our feet dancing.”
The breath the breath is catching
Believe her or not that’s what’s going on.