Marty Scott

Megiddo


The story of my redemption is written in blood,
             Pure flames and dark gelatinous light just smeared
On everyone I abandoned—meaning you.

My darling, every beauty cannot pass,
             Nothing in this heart will let it fade,
Because we are the stuff from which God comes,

Pure suffering, the gift we give each soul
             Presented to us in the dungeon of the world—
Thumb screws, man traps, the pit and pendulum.

Confession? More ritual than rationale
             Of darkness for the law that crunches love.
Law works so hard to pass away, blind belief

In levers which cannot be turned without
             The angels we no longer trust, who hate
The flesh we’re made of, the blood that carries life.

Conceived in sin, our fellowship is sin,
             Our very matter tortured by itself,
Our family of clay and shit, true spit.

Dear mother, when the laser light comes down
             To surgically remove the sheep from goats,
When many who cry, “Lord, Lord!” are cast into

The darkness, when the first are last and the last
             Are finally first, I don’t believe you will know me,
The DNA incinerated, lost

Like yesterday’s broadcasts, ephemeral,
             Abandoned to the broiler, beef and blood,
A rumor of war I never watched or fought.

 

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