by LJ Frank
Bearing Witness to my conscience
it was suggested an answer could be
found
on a dusty shelf within theological reach
where we symbolically ate His body and drank His blood,
for where would we be without hearsay,
the obscure nature of our cannibalistic lust
salvation empowered
feasted actions
inscribed on papyrus looking pages
God’s strange grace
ugly and violent
enabled man’s justification
to commit high crimes & misdemeanors
all justified in the name of a higher power
the “I and Thou” lost in another tomb
Where lies the human heart?
A language sacred to those who wrote it
disgorged by word of mouth
and glorified by misogynistic experts
is it easier to trust in doubt?
Hypocrisy is fashionable regardless of season
capitalistic wisdom can always be bought
for a mere coin in the Medieval mind’s coffer
prophetic bodies buried in wet clay
or burned on a dry wood pyre –
dare we ask
has hope been decapitated?
Or was faith lost living under a bridge
or, in an alley pungent with the side glance of revulsion,
self-esteem shouts in a hoarse voice
don’t let the bastards get to you,
for they are like insects crawling over one’s skin
so, the mind seeks to meditate
and the soul’s architecture is in want of renovation.
Transcendental contemplation does cost
And the placebo effect is alive and well
seeking to be antifragile,
the ancients sitting in their lotus position knew
that emptying the mind upfront
comes with no charge –
except a strike on the shoulders
to wake up,
there must be something that can be learned
without being billed,
after all, it’s been rumored
the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue
has a First Edition.