Harvey S. Mozolak
echoes fill entering this sepulchral space
empty wood benches
assigned for Sunday sacred serenade
there the podium of the maître dei deserted
the table central for food ordered above all love
in obedience yielding as common garden goods
and stock their life to death in knifed silence
the menu posted with nails overhead
a la Nazarenus
what whip and cries have driven
like a flock of pigeons or some frightened filthy sheep
all from this place who have bought and brought
things to sell and barter on their knees with heaven?
now off to elsewhere to find the missing
the extra to add on the odd of interest
hangers for off-season coats the shelves for more
this barn where God comes un-bargained sold
was once a tent like animal flesh
this hide of God among us taken down
to move as the people journeyed
un-pillared by great stone and colonnade
now flung away ripped torn naked on a refuse heap
among the broken debris of the desperate
and doomed of human waste
here we will fill our mouths and cup
of God’s leftovers three days old
handouts among the hungry starving
who cannot refuse the filling this donation
an empty offering plate reflecting
the morning brass of light shafts from the east
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