Ceremony (Poem)

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Last night God sat me down to tea
Poured fog-and-mist down through teakwood mesh
Hickory next, swirled around the white half-moon
Cups, poured oceans out

Set about planks of cast iron and little nymph-slips
All piled about and shriveled like leaves, He
Lit candles set of man-fat and people oil and sinewy
White wicks, He made the ceiling like stars

Sang low of the living wood he grew from world-
Seeds, that hum you sometimes hear when Church
Closes its doors and someone speaks the wrong word
Or maybe conversations of Men who make no sense

The font itself a garden

Two pure white cribs between Him in i, and a cradle
A stable, a manger curved and cupped up with all the
Dreams, the magic and promise of flower-flavors, of
Petals that leave your tongue caked in memory

He slid the lid about, shined eclipses and borealae
Nocturnal things in the corners praying, silent moss
While porcelain and clay stumbled about themselves
Reworking, i heard them growing strong and hot

And God so spoke in nothing
There, spoke whole Bibles in framed half-steam
While silence blessed by wetted stone filled
Me to my bones

He did not drink, instead exhaled the slaughter
Of societies, of masochistic planets gone dust
Of loss that only omnipotence sows in observation,
Said, “This is for my brother.

I never knew the taste of tea.”

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