Trying to find new spirits. Trying to make it to the picnic. If its written. We keep looking at the big book.
I was dipped in water. I was made promises. I’m here to cash in.
A soul of God’s, chasing clouds, mire made murky—one sturdy mirror.
I’d never forfeit it, too long running, the target is Christ—
upon a vacuum, palming velocity, feeling verified.
There it extends, unto rebels, announcing shared veins—lost in a sandstorm;
mind becomes a large church; it requires definition.
So viral, thrust through, aside a warrior queen.
Alive by sight, a cemetery of bones, a prophetic word, sudden construction, sudden sinews.
Legendary spirits keep returning. Life is scorching. A jar of essence. Living by faith. Ape strength. Gorilla presence.
What was that lady’s name?
We swore we saw Jesus. The mind will obsess unto a vision appears. The mind is stronger than elements.
The heart has music.
I should tell a story—this is true prose.
There was a child, looking to skies, & he disrespected God. His life was hell, he didn’t know why God would do that. Another kid heard him, ran to his mother: “Your son said he hates God.”
“Come here! Go to your room.”
The child went to his room, seated alone, thinking harder than normal. He swore he heard something. He couldn’t make it out. It appeased him.
We know claims. We doubt them. The child, we’d say, was under pressure. What did he hear?
We chew up such assertions. We break them down to possibilities vs. probabilities.
And what do we see?
