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The Occasion:
Judgment
we glance, swift as hawks
sighting the prey’s neck
catching them not always
unexpectedly, but always
certainly looking for someone
else’s actions to lay
before our guillotine words
readying the flesh for such
sharp self-righteousness that
God shutters at our
dis-remembrance of
“lest ye be judged”
The
Occasion: Lies
sliding from tongues
at first an unsure event
phonetically small,
mere pieces of
—deeds miscarried
sound grows into syllables dripping
over lips
Unstoppable now
Spilling into ears, until the
bulk of WORDS squeeze past
truth and warmth of life
PLOPPING into the world
moldless the rouged tinged blob
shivers in each hearer’s
consciousness
waiting for un/questionable
acceptance or
dis/compassionate disgust
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