The Law of Falling Bodies: Poems

Church of the Downtown Redeemerand Twiceborn Saints

Church of the Downtown Redeemer and Twiceborn Saints Sunday, and the air’s gone slack and thick, Peeled back from the tight night before, until the reverend Straps it on and knobs it loud, hitting his quick licks About the Lord, about the going down and the getting up again, About the slickery pitfalls of body and bottle, and then He’s strangling the live mic like a serpent’s head, Long cord whipping from side to side in the death throes of sin, Sermon with a backbeat, gutbucket gospel in a neon suit, And thunder among the pews, lightning in the aisles, a great Ricochet of amens as he preaches the lid up from darkness And lets the low souls loose, jitter of black electrics Through the jacked-up strings and the brazen tambourine, Crackle of salvation racing down the storm front, making The pulpit jump and the benches tremble, putting Mama on the good foot, daddy off the dime, And the reverend’s still kicking it, Fender in full thrash and twang, Choir behind him at wide-open throttle, angels in fat satin, So heavy they can lift themselves only by the voice, blessing The sweat and the spasm and the steam of jubilee, Reverb pulsing from the amp like waves washing the stain away, Pools and pools of it, in the rinse of rhythm, the sluice of blues, A baptism that takes so hard it lasts until the fires of hell Hiss out and the cinders sizzle and the skin of the damned Gives off a glow like sweet Easter shining high on The churchhouse windows, glass in a rapture of risen light. 73 • • • ...