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Dust sermon

Justine Kingdon


And so Religion     I turned     I walked     and I ran

In such a way as to tell the whole church and then the village

you would never again come close to catching me

I ran and I ran     out into the world     long mane streaming all the way to the clearing

Where I danced upon the bridge of the single hair

But you king giant     you could not cross over

Not with the weight of your importance

Not with the fleet of your old cold buildings

And so you called out     Name yourself

I am Freedom

No longer magician’s assistant inside this church and that cathedral

emancipated     now     to a borrowed courthouse     watching     you

as you drag a comb through the grass beneath the tree outside the church











My horse and I naked this last Sunday     down the red aisle of that same church

           The King’s tax is bad history       I told the congregation                      

        Why pay a rich thief     to play peekaboo with God

Then I turned one last time

toward that altar of yours

Religion     you are no person     No one bright being of infinite worth

Yet you’ve cuckolded every soul I see

That is why I leave now

And each

and every one of them

by their own bravery and light within light

can do the same



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