GOSPEL

The fact that nothing
whatsoever comes to mind,
springs into being so to speak,
should be evidence alone:
Caveat emptor! Abandon
all hope ye who enter here
because the fact is that
there's nothing here,
not a single ordinary thing,
no idea, no nuance, not
even the shred of an idea,
a tainted memory, no,
you're on your own, my friend,
you must provide
your own content, your own
image, it's like those
art kids say, I don't have
an intent, it's what the viewer
brings, I let the reader see
what the reader wants to see.
it's all relative gobbledygook
anyway, a hullabaloo of signs
that signify nothing but
their own presence.
So when your eyes
pass over these marks, here,
these glyphs, these scrapes
of pen, you're only looking
at evidence that some thing
scratched against this
surface, nothing more, right?
Like that feeling when you
were sitting in church
in your acolyte robe,
sleeves sweeping down
like great wings, watching
the altar candles flicker,
the thin wisp of smoke
drifting up to the stained glass
dove and the hand of Mary,
how the flame glimmered
on the gold cross!
The pastor's voice swelled
as he delivered the sermon
about the Light of the World!
The sun streamed down on the
congregation in rainbows
where dust motes floated
freely like some swirling
galaxy of wonder and
it's only when the pastor said
"And the Light went out!" that
you saw the candles
extinguish their flames as if
the cool breath of the Holy Spirit
had blown across the church,
how empty it all seemed
so suddenly, so full of people
drowsing, the organist stirring
for the processional, calling
you to minister to the holy flame

and snuff out the candles

but no divine spark remained

and so you proceeded as

an impostor parading your

candle lighter through

the singing congregation,

wondering Is this a sign?,
like the sign of the fish
and the pentecostal flame
now flickering in your head.