| |
Not every wino is a Holy Man.
Oh, but some of them are.
I love those who've learned
to sit comfortably
for long periods with their hams
pressed against their calves,
outdoors,
with a wall for a back-rest,
contentedly saying nothing.
These move about only when
necessary,
on foot, and almost always
in pairs.
I think of them as oblates.
Christ's blood is in their veins
or they thirst for it.
They have looked into the eyes
of God,
unprotected by smoked glass.
Alden Nowlan
Read poems about / on: god
|
|
User Rating: |
|
8.3
/10
(15 votes) |
|
|
|
Alden Nowlan
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend