The Kiss of God

Reserve a space on your brow and on your cheek. Extend the right hand forward with a downward palm having each finger stuck together. The master has a greeting for all who gather under name. Faceless markets will no longer exploit your survival drive. However, I will not bar the old life from you. Go back it. Impale your joy upon their ready spike. Make a bed from the tatters of their waste bins. Bark like a dog and pant after these forgettable place holders of passing dominion. Let them hypnotize you into a hurtful agreement of your time and person as disposable. Tremble before their seal of insecurity and deprivation. Worry yourself sick. Hand them the keys to your heaven and watch them lock the entrance before using them for bracelet charms. Do not chase after those who peddle a doctrine of free schedules while possessing the bone marrow of slaves. Their bodies are free to move about in the zoo that was carefully constructed for them. You were meant to be so much more and to traverse stars. If you allegorize the king, do not become surprised when you can not push back the thrust of invasion with aphorisms. The Branch outstretches as an arm of fruit to farmers. It is a staff in the hand of the shepherd worth his hire. To the wanderer he becomes a homestead against the elements. Yet the gnarled and depleted figureheads of world power only see fuel for a campfire. And to this end I confess that the Branch does bring forth fire and will sustains it's burn upon the workers of mischief. Yet there is nothing that the Branch can fetch in material barter. Men would rather scrap and borrow against their own spirit. They will crawl in the dust for a hand full of figs and shabby quarters. Few can discern the unnatural ability and long sightedness that perches on it's majestic line. The sap which flows within it is resin over the breaches of justice filling in the gaps of our hospitality. It has confounded every saw and axe. None can prune it's excess, which to strangers is welcome, and to sun beaten sojourner is shade. Even if one was found mighty enough to do so, he would faint for sake of the bounty it provides. Marvel can steal more than breath. It can arrest speech, still motion, and dry out all designs of foolishness. Such is the Branch stretched over friend and adversary alike. Every leaf that falls from it is able to quell fever and thwart swelling. I will no longer fear standing armies. Neither will I pledge loyalty to the east wind that can not shake it's stalwart position. The Branch has made daughters of lumberjacks. Yet at any given hour, there will be an architect scratching his chin as to why he can not do as he sees fit. Run and tell the foreman. Run and tell crane operator. Run and tell the clerks of city ordinances that the Branch will not move for any until each servant is kissed. And when he does move from his place, men will lose theirs.