“Are you still sleeping and taking your rest?”


To give away life is to take one’s rest,

Deny the gods and bury one’s talents.

So our senses, yearning to wake from rest,

Exhume for autopsy our first parents

     And ripping at flesh so utterly alien

     It grows in sarcastic sorrow towards old Eden.


Inspecting Adam’s dead old body

And the perfect corpse of mothering Eve,

We suffer self, yet ecstatic to see

Inherited flesh that lives on to grieve

     For selves that touch at gates for alms, blind and naked,

     Or keenly cleave like tongues between the quick and dead.


So forty ashen days are leaving blood

Behind and take nothing too much to heart –

We gnaw at an alphabetical God.

His stitching letters, spelling out Is Who Art,

     Entangle all our time in Euclid’s breadthless line

     And sweat out sins in a dry wash of alkaline.


As a seed that has slipped from its husking,

The self escapes from self, thinking to find

Time’s silver pieces add up to something –

A zero-sum coined the deal “the potter’s ground”

     Where Satan still assists Eve in digging up her sin –

     Where God still dreams – and Adam jumps out of his skin.


  1. Jonathan Webb says

    Thanks JOB.

  2. Jonathan Webb says

    Thanks very much JOB.

  3. Jonathan Potter says

    Kapow. I don’t understand it, but I believe I could if I spent about 40 days with it. The Adam & Eve business reminds me a bit of something from George MacDonald. Lilith, maybe?

    “Sarcastic sorrow”!

    “Gnawing at an alphabetical God”!

    And, hmm … “potter’s ground”!

  4. Churchill says

    Thanks. Good, but though I don’t understand it, would say it’s not your best.

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