The skin of my body
is the skin of a drum
Every lash across my ribs
conducts percussive song
Scarified 16 bars
A note for every flaw
Each wound
Connecting like constellations
I am Ursa Major
Den father to sons and daughters
Children unaware of their place amongst the stars
But
Great love
cannot be contained
Like wine in jars of clay
Cracked and thinning pottery
We are merely
A cup trying to contain the ocean
Overflowing and drunken from
the our contents intoxicating spirit
Gushing forth from our fissures and cracks
Our bones may lay brittle
But in death they will be stacked
Blazing funeral piers scraping against the heavens
an indication of our crowning destination
For we are made of dust and breath
Living only starts at death
For our soles were meant for steps
Our heads have no place to rest
We wave no flags
Giving allegiance to no empire
For the kingdom we serve is unseen
Underfoot
Not upon the backs of an ass or a pachyderm
Beasts of a burdened political system
When asked, who are you?
We reply I? I am not, I represent the Great I Am
We speak on behalf of the one with a voice like a trumpet call
Isa,
Living water
Bridegroom
Great shepherd
The burning bush that was not consumed
Teaching us that the greatest victories
are indicated by the scraped knees of the
servant
The ones who pad their footfalls by walking on hand and knee
Our backs will become bent in the shape of a bell curve
Gaussian functions indicting we are dictated by our hearts
And we bend north and south from there
So awake children of Zion
Understand the lamp you hold in such high esteem
only blinds you
Let us not cling to the safety of steeples
and spires
Totemism of glass
and mortar
Built to echo till the voices become one sound
That they think is our God’s speech
So do not sit with bated breath
Stock straight eyes ahead in those wooden bastilles
As a great friend once told me
*There is only death in our safety
And We serve a God that breathes
