The Guru

His footsteps are
Shimmering, illuminating
Privilege, prestige amongst the
Deities who follow him patiently;
Hera with her supple breasts, kettle-shaped Buddha,
Contemplative Jesus, God, Moses, the Hindu
Idols with their tragic faces and eight limbs
Radiating light,
When he speaks, he becomes
Addictive to the ear:
Our lost lambs clump with
Watery eyes, later, raise their revived
Spirits and howl sins—
Sex, incest, loss, love, drug hits,
Murder, adultery,
Nothing is richer than this.

He is the
Guru,
A man of God, who
Tells the people what
Forgiveness requires and the
Cost of their sins,
Initially, he is pure,
Purer than a nun or a baby wrinkled from
Birth, but
Corruption catches his
Fiery eye and
Labored breath—
What’s this, he exclaims,
Her lips fasten, exchange, taints,
He lives.

The Guru might
Reread the Bible and compare
Corruption to Eve,
Honestly, all women are evil.
She visits on Thursdays with her
Wispy blouse and languid
Curls,
He pulls her in, the ache,
The sheer ache abandons him bare, he
Understands sin and life and rapture in
One meeting:
Flesh kneads flesh,
Sweet,
Consuming,
She does not take the apple nor
Taste it.

The Guru lifts his
Draggled head,

Oh mercy!

In Eden there was
The bountiful tree, blooming
Fragrant flowers then fruit—
The Guru reaches, hunger raking
His shrinking belly,
And plucks the apple hesitantly.
Inbetween furled branches he glimpses
Her raw beauty, his teeth sink
Desperately into
Fire-truck red.

The Guru is a
Man of God, a leader of
Many, and the sinner that
Walks empty,
He hangs his head and
Cradles the bitten apple for eternity.