1st month, 8th day; 7-league boots

   1st month, 8th day; 7-league boots, limping   

Friday limps over the Blue Ridge into the Valley, one of its seven-league boots filling with blood. Jaw set, face blank with pain. Dull with cold. Limping.

She wouldn’t leave it alone, the woman with the wide mouth, the big blinking eyes, the big sinking breasts. She wanted what was hers, whatever it took.

Friday came limping into the Valley. She took it.

They go down into the water, Jesus and John. John pushes Jesus under. He bobs up, springs up out of the water, running shivering, half-naked into the sunlight. A dove flutters over, stuttering in the voice of God: “My son. Don’t doubt it.”

     Why should we? – we never doubted the prophets.

“Yeah, Dick – the words are silly; but it’s got a good beat, you can dance to it. Eight. I give it an eight.”

 01.08.16