To the Korrektiv Kollektiv
…cujus coelesti mysterio pascimur et potamur.
No blood would pass, and maidenhead unabridged
Retained a purity beyond all words –
All words but One of course. Yet double-edged
To spit her heart and turn her sorrow, swords
Would point her toward another moment cradled
By wood before she lifted up and coddled
His body once again. While Bethlehem
Will drink the blood not his, Jerusalem
Remains in shadows not his – for King Herod
Will wait. He rests in peace. But innocence
Today awakes this hour of recompense
For evergreen and blood’s more fragile merit;
Each announces in a tremendous way
The tone and hue that colors Christmas day.
Advent, the Fifteenth Day: Rock Town Arkansas Bourbon Whiskey
Erit radix Jesse…
A razorback misnomer; still, it passes
The test that cuts across the industry
And shaves Kentucky’s competition – thick as
These wiry tufts and bristled hairs must be
To stand on corny ground, this juice of Rock Town.
The tale gets knocked around as locals knock down
A bottle – snout to screwy tail – just how
The natural state of bourbon, Arkansas
Had seen, presents this runty piglet portion
For Advent’s fifteenth day. “So bite the bit
And take a sip,” this whisky says. It’s right
That expectation should exceed aversion –
So winter’s branch on Jesse’s barren tree,
Will stump to prove its root’s nativity.