for the sacred drowning


Sometimes I am
the drunken sunrise painting of a man
yelling, blue fisted, in cigarette cheap beer knock-off ecstasy
at the parking lot of my stasis
even my well-rehearsed rooftop sermons
are somehow forgotten. I
have spent all my years trying to learn
to exalt and still struggle
to the sing the finish phrases of
hallelujah. I force out

for man-kind
for beauty
for love

I am gritting my teeth
on the precipice of an understanding
where I’ve stood for the bulk of
my elephantine lifetime
and lips parted been


back to the in-between a thousand times
Only to claw through the desert
back to the mountain
And still find no answers
No war calls, no prayers

And man-kind
sings in me
And beauty
sings in me
And love
sings in me
I still have not learned how to sing.

I would burn both my hands
and forswear all future holiness
to speak fully, once, and gut myself
just to meet the fire inside me,
fire of love, bellowing


from the empty space
behind my impotent tongue.

Writhe tongue.



writhe unholy terror
behind tongue and clear out
with ash blockage clotting
the throat and lungs and
writhe blood clots stopping the
finger tips until

the fire, holy fire of love,
is clear of smock excrement
and can be released freely
and barrel forward at the
breakneck of intention
without burning
Intention of

all man-kind
all beauty
all love, truth, holiness, hallelujah

I am the dirt of mankind,
but I sing praises to the faces
on mountaintops and statues,
hallelujah, from the rooftops,
exaltation and ecstasy
from the vagabond unshaved in
dying towers, hallelujah,
until we shout ourselves hoarse
and attain holiness
even just before death
And in dying holy, exhale,
from our open mouths
before swallowing the rain
and drowning holy hallelujah
for the drowning of man-kind

Just to remember
Not to forget
The Fire.

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