notes for a new religion

we have always built our own gods. i leave food and furniture in the laundry room temple, an offering to Solidarity, a signal in the noise, a flare in the dark. the poor and the destitute have skills of diplomacy and observation and cover manuvers like the ghost they are. we make our own idols, we trade signs and sigils, we wait and watch and crack wise.

there is a grove i where i almost died. i go back there to pray, to burn incense and read Deleuze. i learn the cartography and pay homage in found fruit. the faces of the tarot and the spell jars full of meaning and the cults of days weave complex questions at the threshold of the door, the underpassage of the welcome mats, the glint of the spyhole, the song of the drains.

the spectre of Saturday hovers over our weary plans and the poetry of hypothetical revolutions can sustain me only so deep into the afternoon. i scratch chalk formula on the sweating sidewalk where my nightmares wait in the breadline for the sweat and sorrow i burned through three shifts back. i am poor, so poor, estranged and in academic and class limbo and spiritually suspect for the impossibile games i set up under your nose and between the lines. charms to speed the tedium and lighten the load, hexes on hostile shades approaching from the dark to threaten you vaguely, disappointed in your curiousity, violence is a tune i can outsing you. light evictions of our decades and haunted clocks that mark our wasted potential, deliver us not into the hands of our debtors, but prepare the trumpet of our Jubilee.

oh angels of revolution, withhold not your burning exegesis: make the locks buckle under their own pressure, and break the covenants on victory's tilted table. hear our slogans and deliver them to the farthest commune. assemble your hosts and take up the banner of the unconscious. even the most dissolute throng will recognize it's name if you have the space to speak it.

Jude is a spiritual vampire. God is a pyramid scheme and the angels are his girlies. we are all mirrors and shadows on mirrors. the war in heaven is like a beehive, the demons and deities grow toó strong for their strength, divide and commercialize, specialize, interpolate, implicate, incomprehensibilize.

a conservative dies to delay the abortion of a fetus 5 minutes. it turns out that fetus is his own next incarnation, but unbelievably hours before his heroic sacrifice the pregnancy was scuttled and the soul blossom which attracted all the brightest buzzing demons leaves only a a loss on which all loss can project itself.