PROPHETS OF EXPULSION

Does the power 

of the poet looking out over a landscape

feel the breath

of God, acting like God

for a

minuscule second of his existence in time?

Does he feel the creation Spirit

melding into his hands

something that is sublime?

To be girthed by Light, the power of God

is sampled

by the Poet who has been crucified.

Sandals of poverty walk here

were the

steady syndrome of sweat equity endures

and the slave master preaches

for his wealth

has driven people to find God.

Does the

extremity reach of a Poet become divine

gathering Light

by its sheer attraction of Holy words?

Someone must have a glass of water

as I choke

on this dusty wind of parasites around me.

These giants who pollute our exteriors

bounded by

their forever progress to destroy the land

are not sacrosanct by any means.

Shall the Poet play God just for a moment

so that thee eyes

are unveiled by these swelling prisms?

My my- is the Poet the deliverer?

Do they

bring the progressions of mankind’s waste

into a century of perplexing visions?

To see

the intolerance and undulating Sin at hand

and recover the lost Light, as if God

chose Poets

to become Prophets of expulsion.

Will the power of the Poet

further divide

or swell these cavities on the landscape

to entrap these posteriors?

When looking

into the eyes of a Poet, do not miss

the upward glance that God is within

for it will shrivel

your backside into a morphing

that will make you feel Saved.

If just for a moment- the Poet has possessed.