Gospel
By Poetry Issue 101
This is no parable, Jesus tells his disciples. I want to show you in between my wordsa carnal will to be reborn.
Read MoreVerdigris
By Poetry Issue 73
Not green as new weeds or crushed juniper, but a toxic and unearthly green, meet for inking angel wings, made from copper sheets treated with vapors of wine or vinegar, left to oxidize for the calligrapher. When it’s done, he’ll cover calfskin with a fleet of knotted beasts in caustic green that eats the page…
Read MoreThe Preacher Addresses the Seminarians
By Poetry Issue 81
I tell you it’s a bitch existence some Sundays and it’s no good pretending you don’t have to pretend, don’t have to hitch up those gluefutured nags Hope and Help and whip the sorry chariot of yourself toward whatever hell your heaven is on days like these. I tell you it takes some hunger heaven…
Read MoreThe Avant-Garde and Sacred Discontent: Contemporary Performance Artists Meet Ancient Jewish Prophets
By Essay Issue 83
I RECALL A SUNDAY MORNING when the church lectionary readings included a passage from the prophet Isaiah. The lay reader that morning was a thoughtful, older man dressed in a tasteful gray suit. Standing at the lectern, he opened the Bible and read: At that time Yahweh had spoken through Isaiah son of Amoz. He…
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