ITS PENTACOST SUNDAY
A short poem about the Holy Ghost
The Lord loves me. I forgot it was Pentacost Sunday until about noon today. I swear, the Lord loves me.
THE HOLY GHOST The feet of the Holy Ghost are a flame orange twig divaricated as three flexed barleys at the joint The Holy Ghost has a flame orange beak cloven for song and sustenance but a toothless need for a gizzard and how does that translate The Holy Ghost gave a tongue to one and tongues to more than one maybe that is how a whistle transubstantiates to the thrill of language in the larynx It held still and bending to peer into its marble black eye there was a miasma of cosmos which blotted out the order of the world and looked like tree roots on fire in the dark