Church with Crist

Today church was with Crists' blog, with Dennen's prophetic song gone unheard, reality's interrupting way, black coffee's bitter resting grounding, balanced with purified water with half lemon, Weather's religious practice of rejecting God, The Cold and heartless whore that is Mrs. Butterworth, and my own fist; my chest and my broken kite.

Here is my attempt.

to be right

about this world's shameful ignoring

of their neighbor

being stranger

and the communion of self plight

Checkbook clouded sight keeps them

from counting his visible ribs beneath breathing skin

or veiled lover Jerusalem dying

in brown skin fighting

bombing precisely

wrong place wrong timing

Shock and awe not so surprising

another day of bleeding for not fighting

playing with grenades called "aid"

this blown away face never existed in your statistics anyway.

gas a dime less

a strange way of counting success

something they've come to expect.

so I avoid your bank blinding

of the dead child at our table

soldiers killed on cable

and feudal fitting of comfort to living dying

in a way only done in the Christian sort of lying

and redefined submission remarkably reminiscent

of self sufficient.

This way good news is what you make it to your own pious existence

and applicants of words regarding the "blessed poor" refer to--trail off in some unconsidered utterance about their treasure being in heaven and the need for more AK 47's...

in an effort to (avoid) understanding Christs' death we spend our money sending others to theirs and writing checks, for a fraction of what's left, to those who made it through the salvation genocide.

This is my effort, to avoid more death,

to be righteous; I attempt. My attempt.

I have sent myself floating an angry striving existing;

to do something. change something. do nothing.

toward empty failed betterment is my blind defeat.

I beat and beat this chest in agony

harmonizing with all created things in beat and scream

our death is a heralding symphony

in final breath and broken ceasing

I feel Peace spreading; divinity willing.

not in speech or listen

both requiring the independent striving me,

this being blends to Being, I AM breaths.