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Men of Galilee

Now that the marijuana has left them faded and on the couch, let your Spirit fill their bellies. Outline angels laced in the stains of dirty dishes camped around them. Cry Christ amidst songs of gold women and winos leaking from their a.m. radio which resides in the middle of the room like a statued saint or a false prophet. Lord of cockroaches, crawl from the carpet into their complacency until they jump and strip naked before you. As they dance, may the beats of their feet sound to you like Joshua’s army stampeding over Jericho— a violent quake now shaking the room, dropping dead flowers from the wallpaper and cracking floorboards underneath them. Men of Fresno Street, why do you stand staring at the ceiling? Walk, like God on water, across this house and out the back into Gethsemane, and tend to your dying onions! -Michael Brajkovich


Men of Galilee