gold, incense, myrrh

from by Harrison Lemke



You stay in a motel this year
in a poor part of town, nowhere near
the house in sparkling finery.
Get there late, leave early
bearing dreadful cold respectful gifts —
wireless headsets, jars of cake mix —
in the gloom of the afternoon.

Clear your head out in the cold.
You've been lost since you were nine years old.
And the sky gets cluttered up with stars
and other cryptic intimations
and the circuitous side-streets cross themselves
like superstitious old relations
til you lose you lose you lose
you lose your patience.


from some advent songs, released November 8, 2017




Harrison Lemke Austin, Texas

tape-hiss symphonies to God

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