testament

There are these fevers

I cannot speak through

these fires I can’t contain—

livid beneath the thickness of

the tongue, these dashed and

scattered whims dancing

calamities around this conundrum,

the cross carried up these rates of change,

gravity conveyed in trudged hills

and bruise-boned shoulders, 

matter always meaning it more

no matter who wants it most.

The days don’t look, they cross

the street without breaking 

sweat or stride, all sugar and smoke

as the dust dictates the etiquette and

the hat gets passed around.

I keep preaching while the pulpit 

blazes and the steeple is seized by flames,

full throated and choking

on the secret I could never say,

all ashes falling down

the empty altar

the litany unspoken.