“Beyond the Blue Bubbles”

Grazing the field of the eastern shore I spat

on the misty ground with bloodied lips cut from

twelve rounds with Jesus and the loyal band.

Salt-licked stones arose from their beds and

hovered over the sea to gather in the form

of a blue-wired bridge that reached the west.

I breathed and heaved my feet over the path

and tip-toed barefoot through the belch

of rock and pebble that burped blue bubbles

as I stepped each step towards the barren desert.

Whistling teeth of broken marrow grinning

wide with crimson thoughts of Proverbs nine.

Eating and fearing the blessed feasts of those

forgotten I enter the land of the secret dead.

Greeting me as one of their own, a man who

threw an uppercut on the Lord’s own chin.


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