Son of Man

υιοσ του ανθροπϖσ
ερχου κυριε Ιησου

Son of man
Boy wonder
Show yourself
It has been some time
We have stumbled through all the arguments
We have explored all the angles
and counted all the angels

We have sung all the songs

We have painted every setting sun
from every possible perspective

We now call nothing something and something nothing.
Ex nihilo
Pro nihilists
plastic surgery

A hard rain is going to…
some say the world will end in…


we are tired.

We are still dying too young
We are still living too long
And We have told everyone

And we keep telling ourselves
Rehearsing the glorious beginning
Mourning the tragic flaw
Then rejoicing in the irony. oh sweet irony. the irony age. i suppose began with three
iron nails, hammer and some laughter. then darkness. then light.

Son of man
Son of sam
Son of the poor
Son of the weak
Son of the forgotten and the unseen
Son of the diseased
Son of the stigmatized and polarized and hypnotized
Son of the dry creaking bones
Sleeping on the wet ocean floor
And in cages in the desert.

Son of dust
first born of the dead


for now though
we feast
on ‘was ist das’
‘This is me’

thin processed wafers and cheap wine

miracle whip

we cling to words greater than a thousand pictures

folding space
without spice

a foot in jerusalem here and a foot in jerusalem there.

dead alive




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