What kind of gun would Jesus have carried?

What kind of gun would Jesus have carried? How was he armed when he told those at Galilee’s side Drenched and stinking of fish “Pick up your guns and follow me” And later they rode into the city Guns carelessly slung from their mounts Laughing and singing as they went Trampling palm leaves in the dust. And he paused at the cacophony of the temple And smiles “Small businessmen just trying to make a living. Money is welded to our bones” And moves on And surely no one could forget the shoot out at Gethesemene “Get thee behind me or die.” “You’ll never take me alive, Pilate,” who with sudden enforced wisdom tells Barabas “This is not your lucky day, son.” And looking down at his hands muses “They seem a bit dusty but Eh, later,” knowing there is always someone to feed the crowd while up on the thousands up thousands of crosses are being erected for the deserving. “Remember,” he tells a passing Pharasee. “That everyone hangs in the middle and when faced with evil, always stand your ground.”

A Prayer for Deliverance

Oh money

That takes away the cares of the world

That dries the tear from the eye of the banker

And dresses fat Mendham in ample obscurity

and all is trim white and polite lawns

and all our woes

are driven away in Audis.

Words

If no one reads these words …

What then?

Do they fall like some primeval forest

resounding only in dinosaur ears, unheard

unknown, undescribed.

When the world has lost its need for me

Where do they live?

On other lips, in other ears

echoing,

misremembered,

uncomprehended

and incomprehensible?

  

Or do they ring

in a memory

in a dream

in the great tomorrow

of forever?

There is only a tree,

There is only a tree,
Only a stone,
Only a river,
Only a place,
Where things are
And have been
And will be.
Until we fit studied disconcentration
Onto these non dead bodies.

Undifferentiated Aliens Descend

Undifferentiated aliens descend
the stairs violins blaring
until a red light forms in the west
and night pushes the hills down

Nothingness is welcomed
with too many songs to sing
and warm eyes.
All this, for a flower

A Song of New York

New York makes the angels sings
and steals the faces of the poor
and tells of the glories of the rats
of the mysteries of the sidewalks unfolded
and how the pigeons
swindle old ladies out of bread.
how dreams congregate
in the heads
of the hurried.

Ah, the words come tumbling
like an endless stream of clowns
from a little car.
Dreams are not enough;
Only the visions are true.

And they speak to me
Of Melanie who promises everlasting happiness
If she can manage and invest my funds
Of the Tom Kat Bakery
Which still refuses to say
How many cats are used in each loaf
But I have heard the mutant purring come to a sudden stop
Too often. Too soon.

And they tell how the stone lions march down Fifth Avenue
Crushing the air beneath their feet.
We have so little earth this year
They complain quietly.
And how Attila rides through Wall Street
Wielding his sword against all comers.
It is the best of slaughter this time.
The best of the hardened ones.
only a Hallelujah,
could be better.

But it is at night
that the buildings come alive
they can be heard murmuring in the dark.
“WE are the city,” they say. “We are its glory
and here always,
not these creatures, who flow in and out
with the sun.”
And they take some now and again.

Yet I know what they think
and that there are only two promises to earth
and we must keep them
no matter the windows, no matter the pulsing erect
I-beams, hearts rising to the sky.
no matter the quiet mouse in Times Square.

It is only for the books, we say
only for the colossal thought
that makes us great
that we come again.

And it is I who have a destiny with them.
I have more than can possibly be said or heard
so that I can remain faithful.
I carry these gifts upon my lungs, my brain
my tongue, my head, my all-or-nothingness, from everything on the ground
to everything in the sky.

And it is all so that
somewhere
twenty-four dollars in beads and trinkets
stays buried.

Voyage of Discovery

Some years, a youth and a breath ago
There was a girl
Arms legs, breasts and
All the things that matter
Calling to me with blue eyes.

Did I not see that every cell
Had awakened
That such misunderstanding came to pass
Cannot be understood
Blood vessels were exploding
And the time of the world
vanished.

How eternal these moments are
That happen again and never do
Each filled with its own newness
That we recall the faintest breath
Like a rushing storm

Ah, so it was that Columbus
Came again and again unto a new world
to a vast, uncharted land.
And knew not what he had found.
Seeing only savages