of Revelation—

of Revelation—
although I doubt it.

he is trying to make
life better for Tokyoites,
knocking down substandard structures
before they fall; breaking gas lines
lit on fire to suggest
people should find a better way;
widening streets too narrow;
and, of course, knocking
military aircraft out of the air.

but I doubt it.

given a name and habitation
by a mind still and contemplative.

of vengeance and retrieval
and we feel the weight
of death on his shoulders.

and we grieve at what
must be done to stay on task.

to set aside false motives,
not finding replacements.

in a desperate situation,
justifying rash action
to the horror-stricken witness.

and befriends a pirate ship
to continue his careening course.

to a stronger prince
of foreign soil

almost to the point of worship,
entreating flights of angels
to sing him to his rest.

as did Hezekiah in precipitous straits
and prayed over with earnest desperation
and prayers must be matched by works
in harmony so poetchilde gets to thinking
how he could do it like getting elected
president because both major candidates
blow out big-time just before voting
and the only thing never yet tried
is a poet-philosopher awash in promise
with hidden superpowers and knowledge
of a tax law that only JWs have observed
so false religion gets sent to the jailhouse
on charges of evasion and it’s still only
one country out of a couple hundred
and one religion blowing its own horn
and it’s nothing but wild thought.

and searching until a movie about a man
who receives a miraculous word of knowledge
for real keeps him going and poetchilde receives
a spark of knowledge so real, so simple,
and so hidden that it is nothing but
miraculous whence he tries to tell
but feels as John forbidden to tell what he heard
as the Seven Thunders spoke and realizes
he cannot tell by word of higher power even if
agents put bamboo shoots under his fingernails
because it belongs to the owner who will choose
when, where, how, and through whom.

yet, yet,
nobody worships poetchilde.