the prophet
the prophet lives always in a state of emergency. the sirens
are always sounding. there is always crying and death outside
her window, always gore on her front step.
the prophet reacts fiercely and harshly to injustice.
every act of violence rips into his soul. he chokes on the
blood of others far away.
there is no consolation for the prophet. her soul is always
in a state of anguish. every step she takes is on eggshells,
cracking the backs of the poor and oppressed. every step
shatters her nerves. her whole body trembles and shakes.
the prophet does not have an extra sense; his senses have
simply been heightened to extremes. the dial on the monitor
has been turned up all the way. while his peers nod along to
the music, the prophet writhes in the corner in horror, the
sounds so loud, they rape his soul.
the prophet lives always in sense of great desperation.
every act of violence signals the end of the world. for the
prophet, there is no time. patience is hardly a virtue,
but a sickening state of utter complicity.
the prophet cannot control his words. they are always over-
flowing from his mouth, vomit that comes up too fast, he is
unable to swallow. they rarely hit the mark; often being
too exaggerated to make sense to his hearers. only sometimes,
and on accident, do the prophets words penetrate the heart
of his hearers and are digested and understood. more often,
his words burn, acid wantonly sprayed all over faces.
there is no complexity for the prophet; the prophet can only
think in right and wrong. there is no such thing as compromise
and consensus. it is either now or never.
the prophet can see things that others cannot. she is able
to percieve the outcome of events in advance that others are
unable to see. the prophet lives always two steps ahead of
time, always tipping over the line that leads into the future.
the prophet eats black coals and his mouth reflects his soul.
the prophet is always this close to enacting violence on herself
as repentance for the violence done to others.
the prophet is unable to rest, always waking up in the middle
of the night, pacing the path of maddness.
the prophet can tolerate only holes in the ground and hot
concrete as his resting places.
the prophets chews glasses and swallows concrete.
her every possession is a elephant sitting on her shoulders,
every dime a hole burning in the chest of an orphan.
the prophet's peers are his enemies, his loved ones he hates.
God is no abba for the prophet. "father" is replaced by fury.
an angry judge ready to hang all the defendants.
the prophet can never be satisfied. every effort falls short.
death will be the prophet's only resting place.
are always sounding. there is always crying and death outside
her window, always gore on her front step.
the prophet reacts fiercely and harshly to injustice.
every act of violence rips into his soul. he chokes on the
blood of others far away.
there is no consolation for the prophet. her soul is always
in a state of anguish. every step she takes is on eggshells,
cracking the backs of the poor and oppressed. every step
shatters her nerves. her whole body trembles and shakes.
the prophet does not have an extra sense; his senses have
simply been heightened to extremes. the dial on the monitor
has been turned up all the way. while his peers nod along to
the music, the prophet writhes in the corner in horror, the
sounds so loud, they rape his soul.
the prophet lives always in sense of great desperation.
every act of violence signals the end of the world. for the
prophet, there is no time. patience is hardly a virtue,
but a sickening state of utter complicity.
the prophet cannot control his words. they are always over-
flowing from his mouth, vomit that comes up too fast, he is
unable to swallow. they rarely hit the mark; often being
too exaggerated to make sense to his hearers. only sometimes,
and on accident, do the prophets words penetrate the heart
of his hearers and are digested and understood. more often,
his words burn, acid wantonly sprayed all over faces.
there is no complexity for the prophet; the prophet can only
think in right and wrong. there is no such thing as compromise
and consensus. it is either now or never.
the prophet can see things that others cannot. she is able
to percieve the outcome of events in advance that others are
unable to see. the prophet lives always two steps ahead of
time, always tipping over the line that leads into the future.
the prophet eats black coals and his mouth reflects his soul.
the prophet is always this close to enacting violence on herself
as repentance for the violence done to others.
the prophet is unable to rest, always waking up in the middle
of the night, pacing the path of maddness.
the prophet can tolerate only holes in the ground and hot
concrete as his resting places.
the prophets chews glasses and swallows concrete.
her every possession is a elephant sitting on her shoulders,
every dime a hole burning in the chest of an orphan.
the prophet's peers are his enemies, his loved ones he hates.
God is no abba for the prophet. "father" is replaced by fury.
an angry judge ready to hang all the defendants.
the prophet can never be satisfied. every effort falls short.
death will be the prophet's only resting place.