By: Brent House
Blessed is the father who sleeps with gospel upon a lighted chest who keeps his word
he shall tear awake strictures of blood & his heart shall stop by peens of unprest water.
Blessed is the father who passes among the pews who shakes his wingtips toward God
he offers resin
as a remnant from his labor for his son shall write in aphorisms broken & dark as myrrh.
Blessed is the father whose garments dry upon nails whose flesh holds the soil of fields
he tends a vine
green & free of blight & he shall harvest fruits open with pure crystals of sweet pudor.
Blessed is the father who eats dinner on the ground who sits on roots of noonday shade
Blessed is the father who raises biscuits in iron skillets who pours grits like molten lead
in early morning
he offers a fine roux for tomato & resurrection & over his son days will have no power
he shall reign
& this ordinant future shall pass in a sclerosis of tracts & at the table he will take supper.
Blessed is the father who keeps the way offers no brag or big talk he shall keep his word
redeem our ruin
among murmell people he will roll his sleeves & his deeds shall burn as heartwood tinder.
Blessed is the father who offers cottonseed meal & offers summer refection in harsh lands
in a generation
his vines shall grow lax & graceful & in early morning harvest he shall have right to enter.