Gospel of Honor

In the undecorated work space meshedout of counting these boxes and trucks,George sits with me near the gas pump,

a day as ordinary as any, so timelessthe way timelessness creeps into herewhere we mind America's business,

keep its broad and failed declarations,fixing the broken conveyor switchesleading product to where it must go,

to life that is afterlife, the use of things.Mike, you the kind of man I would wantto be in battle with. We could survive.

On the back of the electric cart we rideto machines that broke down, crackedunder the weight of the harness we have

on our necks, too, and when George speaksthe gospel it rolls up and stands like a manlooking inside the eyes of death and danger,

past them to what it takes to see homeis this stillness where some of us knowwe have to outlive the lie called time.