The Lightning is a Strobe and the Thunder is a Bass

Born from weakness, shaped in heat,
The Golden Calves appeared to him.
Their altar was beneath his feet,
And so he danced in praise of them.

Some others joined him for the feast,
And two by two more came as well,
Each worshiping their separate beast,
But all beneath a single spell;

The women bent into a bow
In praise of great fermented grain,
And close behind to praise the plow,
The men, stiff-chained, all bowed the same.

And when the sacred spell had passed,
And all the grain had turned to chaff,
From Sinai Moses came at last,
But found no altar, dance, nor calf.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Speaking in Tongues, Dancing in Feet

The Midnight Mass

It’s midnight in the chapel and she’s dancing all alone;
It’s silent, save the drone
Of falling feet on stone.
This chanting’s from her dancing, but she might as well be prone
In how her footfall’s tone
Sound prayers of flesh and bone.
Her eyes are focused upwards while her arms seem wildly thrown
In motions one would know
As seedlings being sown,
But none are there as witnesses, save the altar’s empty throne—
No one to condone,
And no one to disown—
But still she dances on as if in silence she will grow.

It’s long past midnight now, and she’s still dancing there, alone.
The candles have all since gone out, but oh! How they once shone!

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on July 27, 2011 at 10:35 am  Comments (2)  
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