 |
| by Mitt Ann |
Baptism[1]
There, down, as
the evangelists scratch gold, on the East Coast beach
by the breasts of sand, among sea-salt waters; scratch
and weed:
money is paper,
and bible is paper; all and each;
why believe one or the other? All, we, coast through
St. Pete.
I look up and
must say the ashen skies seem polyester-ripped
as like a starving dog who hates his cushion; ashen
clouds
until the wind
exhaled, a bloated breath of tarnished gold, lit
money and bible, to tithe weekly,
offerings melt
what Jesus
heals, money restores – it is a miraculous seed
(for) believers still baptize with
salt for their ulcered deeds
O how, I notice
brass-like debris walk on the East Coast sea
and the waters do not wash what your
trousers hid
If between the
golden fickle of the candle,
and the baptism of the sea-salt water,
how should a man choose one or the other?
[1] CF.
Derek Walcott’s “A City’s Death by Fire”, “As John to Patmos”, “Prelude”
