king dumb come

I come from the deep, the zombie brains, the melodrama of pop radio music, the middle density where it is the hardest to dig yourself out. No tanks or bombs. Still, I come from the wreckage. Wandering homeless, cardboard motels filled with families who are filled with cheap chips and soda. The poor and richest of souls.

I come from the devout, dirty jean clad zealots on pilgrimages, unabashedly seeking the holy. The right. The kneelers of prayers both confused and misspelled. The tone deaf singers, entranced by ceremony, smokes, bells, and uniforms. hypnotic is the incense for it will render you faithful.

I come from the power, held over me, on top of me, through the opening of me. The sweaty heft of a godly Samaritan, carnal and kin. White robes woven of forgotten sins, rags tinted with shades of dignity. Baptismal, because of the fire. I come from the power of the word, the creed of silence, the glory of a righteous kingdom with bonds everlasting.

I come from the addiction, quietly desperate and stubborn as fuck. The drugged escaping to darkness ironically chased by the light. Twitching and fracturing the miles of pavement leading to cliffs set on the shallows. I come from misunderstanding, honestly and openly justified. Forgiveness for thy neighbor no matter my bent knees, my beating hammer, my pride.

I come from lambs masquerading as lions. Matted fur thick enough to drown in, thick enough to catch on, thick enough to choke on. I come from ritual, prayers, layers of cloth cloaks flowing and revered, ancient oils, and water turned into that most flammable. All the tools to hide and make the unspeakable disappear. All the tools of conspiracy.

I come from the house of glass, made in the image, blown cold over the ages. The family distorted by sympathy, the flock deceived by salvation. I come from the well, the giver of life, the salted and purified. I come from stones scratching for blood, from fruitless trees, from a hand on a knife. the pride of a small town.

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