not hymn
(re-writ again)

i
the deafness of one is
not underestimated
to be
by even the most atheistic
apostles &
although debt is a virtue
hanging by log
pined into our wet brains
the sounds i
am
makes when prayer
is a possible
answer or
hitting coolly laid
pavement another—
never sums up
the callous silence
of an accident

ii
to be a collossus of
parallel tracks
& or ruble
of prone steal
reminds a bend
or some say tunnel
who is truly coming
by
& by
but still remains un—
proven what
lies
ahead

iii
standing up
for several hours &
then kneeling
before standing up once more
all the while denying
effort transcends
triumvirate bodies in
the name
of the etcetera

iv
cannot remember face
or fact by calling
out to nameless robes
in vain
though names were never
necessary
all under breath
of rib
gnostic &
believable
when darkness was
a lovely man
silhouetted by pale
hourse &
my mouth rang
with swords

v
on rocks made of skulls
you & i
sit fist-tight
against stubbled chins
waiting
for sheepskin to soak
up what is not there
or never was
some firmament
of voices
choir leering with
their omniscient
bald
beards
only watching to count
pentamerous
mistakes we make
in forgiveness
refusing to take back
all that is
set into wooden
stone by
motion
in lyrical disconnected
dissonance
they