Temple – for Pussy Riot

Doves, heads tucked, in small cages. Bleating lambs
with shitten legs, incense, candles that have a prayer
pasted around them. All these things are there
on sale. It is the selling there that damns

makes prayer transaction and the merchant’s price
the way to god. Who’s everywhere you look.
Not just in temples. Even in a book
his words are blurs; they scurry round like mice

Nibbled away at faith and love and hope.
He knows disciples listen, write things down.
He makes them free – they think he wants a crown.
He sighs. He takes his staff, a length of rope

Flogs merchants from the place, chooses a deed
there’s only one way we can ever read.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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2 Responses to

  1. rosefox says:

    I’ve heard quite a few interpretations of that particular deed, actually.

    (Am I missing the right way to read the second line? I can’t make it scan in my head.)

  2. cmcmck says:

    This is my father’s house and ye have made it a den of thieves.

    Yeshua bar Joseph who befriends prostitutes, the blind, halt and lame, tax gatherers, enemy soldiers and Samaritan women (and it takes a knowledge of Judaic practice to understand fully what that means) is quite a man in my book. :o)

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