[1] Call and Response
The clergy class outsiders…
…are patiently bearing
witness, their skin
and their sense
of time and chance
are thicker, longer than any gospel
baron, elder, member, father.
The clergy class outsiders…
…are down biding
their time in the guts of a searing
wooden horse as in a tomb
slept Christ
who we know today
wishes he remained.
The clergy class outsiders…
…are beginning
to believe in the goodly
Oblivion
of a millennial forest
fire and promise
of an acid-green who follows.
[2] The Disobedient Prophet is Slain by a Lion
From fresh miracle
anointed in the caul
to wizened youth
with a brush, and still (shh)
stroking Yourself into Elijah
before me now.
i can see Your face
on the mountain
and the fire
and Your hands in the air
hanging from a wall
in my father’s office.
But You never
reckoned
how prophets hate
themselves; how much pain
there is in watching
someone plastic, like
You, never
open back—
never blink;
preserved prophet-
perfect
in damar.
[3] Pour Water Upon Us
Wherever we are;
Any foreign street,
Any awkward land.
Give us a sip?
Scrub our boots of sand.
Feed us locust with Tabasco
Like goodly penultimates
Of the quick-come hellmouth.
We won’t need heads
Where we’re going.
So prepare now the whetstone,
Warden. We’re waiting.
And polish too that platter,
Herod. Salome, sedate water
On rollerskates, is hungry.
— T.K. Edmond is a SweeTart and burger apologist in Fort Worth, Texas. Work can be found in ZiNDaily, Strukturriss, Abridged, Coffin Bell, Pidgeonholes, APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL, and Exacting Clam.