...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Monday, April 10, 2017

34. Palm Sunday

At church, we didn’t hear about the ass,
Or the palms, or how
The praise of men is brittle glass,
As fleeting as 
A “wow”

Said in response to good news taken in
With a half-sincere 
Regard. We heard instead that wine
Is substance meant
To cheer

The heart, not shackle it, if Christ indeed
Is the vine. Grapes burst
When time removes them from their need,
Readies them for
A thirst

That’s always present, like a dusty street
leading temple-ward.
Those who lay fronds before the feet
Are drunk upon
The word.

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