Epiphany @ The Village Massala, North Wales, 19/02/19

In the restaurant, alone
An island skirted by cruising waiters
Foot stepping down their personal Nullarbor.
A sense of waste in their walk, but somehow vital
To the passing existence I owe them.

Alone in the restaurant,
Fingers of my folded arms
Strapped, prayed in-perpetuity.
Cutlery, plates, wine bottle
Assembled for (s)played chess.

In the restaurant, alone
The Three Wise Men are framed
By aubergine, spice & solitary thoughts.
Arc of sun shapes o’er ceiling, reminds me
Of Piss Christ, quenching (be)suffered thirst.

Alone in the restaurant,
Drunk spilt bloodiest wine
Laps over his suit creases.
The last          journeying
In pain         and in fear.

Ok, God maybe a computer, or
Piece on the side for Mary.
But something brought me here:
Lilted lisp hung from lips
Of a heirloom corpse, coughing
Dust of the oceans, winds and stars.

(Yes,
It was the oceans, winds and stars.)

Wet from collar to ankle
There was creation in the rain.
Every pane had its own winter tree
Amber streetlights caressed road shoulder.
Looking back, neck creaked as unhinged door
The moon blistered puddles.
For my life, my Lord, I'm raining.

Every water
Is same water:
Every hour
On the hour:
Darling, you whisper
Only here
Only now.

.
 #ERULGCT #2

Pic. Piss Christ – Andres Serrano