Out of her came that—
growling, rasping,
tearing, splintering—
the chainsaw calls
from the suburb—
sawdust falls,
like fur from a wild beast,
collecting on the stalls.

The devil prowls like a lion,
seeking whom he may devour.

Scripture is sufficient.
So says the regent.
But are 'we' sufficient,
Can we know God without descent?
Has our interpretation been stringent?

The answer is probably yes and no, so ...

What will keep that prowling lion on his fetter,
help us understand scripture more and know Him better?

Shall I poke at Philosophy,
Or rim around psychology,
Prod at postmodernism,
and swim in a little mysticism?

they do not replace scripture and God,
especially on a spiritual level,
but they help to shift and shod,
refining a mind
that more becomes the image desired.

Guidance by the holy spirit is crucial,
to know her you need only be still.

If all this to more
refine and nuance my aesthetic.
Then I love you, whore,
and this clinic is pathetic.

I am fuzzy and furry in this one.
I grasp at the the fuzz, the fur,
I feel the warm breath and bristles brush my ear.

A pastor’s sermon is not scripture,
yet a Christian is called to listen and linger.

Have I navigated that invisible obstacle course?
Can my aesthetic image that unattainable source?

Has the horny tissue been rubbed from my eyes?
(The word ’cornea’ is derived from latin ’cornu’ meaning ’horn’.)

Look, rows of sharp teeth biting my head,
slicing and dicing at my jugular.
Here I am at someone’s mercy, to cry, before I am dead -
I am stuck in barbed wire.