Second Coming

I

SECOND COMING There is but one sin and that the sin of losing attention. And I have sinned and been forgiven: the sword which severs has risen and I have reentered the splendor of Eden a beastly angel where once angelic beast and come back to give you a message: There were five: four nails and a crown. There are five: sight and touch, taste, scent and sound you have whirled into the world. And I have none of them—— long since sensationless and soulless, deaf, dumb and blind. Jehovah is a mystery which is hidden, and hidden, and hidden. At first I thought myself dead, but death is a mystery and you cannot know it when it arrives. And if alive, perhaps then mad, but even then, surely someone’s eyes see my face, someone’s ears hear the words I mouth in the solace of an Eden you cannot find behind the five lies you tell yourself when you’re awake, the five bricks from which you build your house where I have come to give you a message: There are five causes for your discomfort, five false deliveries of the world. What happens when you see a tree or see the grass and what stares back is fierce and green, twists acrobatic in the air you don’t see? What happens when you hear a word, a patch of song or noise and what screams back is wild and long in a silence you don’t hear? Your nostrils and tongue also deceive you. The world revolves but you do not feel it for the world is a mystery, all mysteries the same, each message the same you received in Eden, the same Jesus brought back and was broken for: There is a flaming sword before your eyes and its brightness burns them. There is a flaming sword beside your ears and its singing stings them. There is a flaming sword below your nose and its rising smoke chokes you. There is a flaming sword across your palms and its embers blacken and burn them. There is a flaming sword bestride your tongue and its edge severs words from their meaning. But meaning is a mystery and men cannot know as I may not know whether my words are heard

where I am, hospice or madhouse, all places the same now that the sword has been lifted and I’m alone to deliver this message which won’t come again: There will be no second coming because you won’t let him come. You don’t want Jesus. You want your memories of Jesus. You don’t want Jesus. You want your myths about Jesus. You don’t want to be saved. You just don’t want to die and you already are. You don’t want to be saved. You just don’t want to burn and you already are because you will not ask what I must ask: What was the taste of my blood? I cannot remember. What was the hue of my clothes? I cannot remember. What was the scent of my sweat? I cannot remember. What was the thrust of my thorn? I cannot remember. What was the sound of my breath?

It was the sound of this message: There is no room where you are alone and you must change.

Joseph Allgren