“Blazing fires,” yelled the Preacher. “Blazing fires will purify you! Just go on– walk through them a sinner and exit a saint!”
We smiled and we clapped.
The next day, we all lit our homes on fire and strode through our front doors into the flames.
Oh, how it hurt! How it burned– how we melted! We all rolled on the ground, writhing and screaming.
The Preacher tore off his face and his bloody skull laughed at us from our front yards.
THE HOSPITAL ROOM
The Hand of God reaches down into my shadowy inferno and yanks me out like an elevator going up, up, up.
I am a prophet and no prophets need eyes. We see the darkness and walk through heavenly fire.
So, I blindfold myself with white bandages.
A black serpent has curled up inside my head. I feel it inhaling my clean air then exhaling its own polluted smoke into my lungs.
On a Friday, I tried to gouge out my eyes so it could escape from my skull.
Despite all the blood, it still hasn’t moved.
As a gift for my sacrifice, the Hand of God touched my blackened eyes and taught me how to see like angels do.
I awoke on a Sunday in a white room dressed in a white robe.