god she was
she dealt with dirt and glory
never kept nothing clean
she was a god
forgetful and passionate and proud
didn't do the big miracles
but things strange enough
to get her noticed
she lived in dirt and glory
never washed with soap and water
just scrubbed her pores open
with a gnarly garden stone
crisscrossing her body with fiery paths of pain
shedding her skin
as sacred dust
she rolled in dirt and glory
never stayed in
shone quietly in her drunken majesty
downed and drowned their pain
drank each and every one of them under the table
and then wandered lonely puking praying singing home
she dealt in dirt and glory
never once said please
only threw punches if she loved you
only cursed you if she cared
wrapped you in jokes and hugs and laughter
till your ribs were fit to burst
she died in dirt and glory
never saw it coming
jigging across the road to an ancient tune
pitched up into the air by some over-urgent cop car
singing bacchanalian Alleluias as she spiraled from life to death
at her funeral
her mourners’ tears joined as rivulets rolling down the nave’s cold-stoned floor
she watched them all from the rafters
bathing in the rising vapours of their voices
booming along to her favourite hymns
let fall a tear or two of her own
salty droplets bouncing off their mournfully-hatted heads
and later
after all the fuss had settled down
half a dozen of her disciples gathered at her favourite watering hole
and tried to make some sense of it all
spent several days and nights
and countless doubles and countless pints
pulling together threads and stories and one-liners
into some roughly embroidered gnostic gospel
until the police lawyers got wind of it
and threatened to sue
so they scitter-scattered to the eight gates of the city
with their tails between their teeth
and the barman at their heels
but there was one
who remained
an apostle too sozzled to shift
who stayed put and stubbornly persisted
used up every damn beer mat in the whole damn place
penning and re-penning
a liturgy to do her proud
and thus
she lived on
in ceremonies of words and wine and salt and kisses and song
and the dirt of her glory
formed pearls in the fractured shells of their hearts
which ached
for her return
she dealt with dirt and glory
never kept nothing clean
she was a god
forgetful and passionate and proud
didn't do the big miracles
but things strange enough
to get her noticed
she lived in dirt and glory
never washed with soap and water
just scrubbed her pores open
with a gnarly garden stone
crisscrossing her body with fiery paths of pain
shedding her skin
as sacred dust
she rolled in dirt and glory
never stayed in
shone quietly in her drunken majesty
downed and drowned their pain
drank each and every one of them under the table
and then wandered lonely puking praying singing home
she dealt in dirt and glory
never once said please
only threw punches if she loved you
only cursed you if she cared
wrapped you in jokes and hugs and laughter
till your ribs were fit to burst
she died in dirt and glory
never saw it coming
jigging across the road to an ancient tune
pitched up into the air by some over-urgent cop car
singing bacchanalian Alleluias as she spiraled from life to death
at her funeral
her mourners’ tears joined as rivulets rolling down the nave’s cold-stoned floor
she watched them all from the rafters
bathing in the rising vapours of their voices
booming along to her favourite hymns
let fall a tear or two of her own
salty droplets bouncing off their mournfully-hatted heads
and later
after all the fuss had settled down
half a dozen of her disciples gathered at her favourite watering hole
and tried to make some sense of it all
spent several days and nights
and countless doubles and countless pints
pulling together threads and stories and one-liners
into some roughly embroidered gnostic gospel
until the police lawyers got wind of it
and threatened to sue
so they scitter-scattered to the eight gates of the city
with their tails between their teeth
and the barman at their heels
but there was one
who remained
an apostle too sozzled to shift
who stayed put and stubbornly persisted
used up every damn beer mat in the whole damn place
penning and re-penning
a liturgy to do her proud
and thus
she lived on
in ceremonies of words and wine and salt and kisses and song
and the dirt of her glory
formed pearls in the fractured shells of their hearts
which ached
for her return