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Morgan Guyton's avatar

“Do you understand why I’m

doing this?” she asked Johannes

as she put the injira in his mouth.

“Because we’re a collective organism

sharing one body with the cosmos.

The voice that speaks through me

is the vine inside of you.

It is the breath creating everything

and your body is its poetry.”

“The only thing that keeps you

from trusting the love that

blooms you into your full self

is your suspicion that God

is a harsh man who reaps

where he doesn’t sow,

a capitalist emperor who demands

continuous flattery and props up

the most assertive narcissists

who always control the story,

so you guard your love closely

like a buried treasure to exhume

and hand back to God when

you die as your ticket for the Disneyland

in the sky that has never existed.”

“I give you my body to feast on

in the heaven that is now,

where we can make art

that blossoms into beautiful fruit

to multiply the delight.”

“Saul, do you want to say the words

for the wine?” she asked.

I cleared my throat:

“This wine is the blood of our crucifixion,

we the despised ones who had our

movement stolen from us by the

popular kids, we who persevered

through the ordeal as every Lucifer

persecuted us across the centuries,

dressed in purple linen, feasting

on our demonization as we

wasted away outside the gate.”

“We will not wait for heaven any longer.

Enough wine has been bled

for us to see how the

fruit of knowledge curses,

how the bishops built a tower

to heaven all of creation

has been groaning to topple

in a Pentecost of rainbow vomit.”

“Let us repent in glitter and ashes

as we laugh without a shred

of respectability remaining

knowing only mercy with each

sip of this Sangiovese which

is the blood of the lamb

poured out into our poetry.”

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