Written by Mike Klumpp

there is a time for the muse to speak through fingers like blood flows through veins – moving through many channels all in one instant one pulse – the heart croaks out squishing sounds – sub sonic farting noises – the fingers tap like medieval ravens pecking randomly on dense dead wood – the muse stirs like a dark figure – she is the blood before oxidation deep bluish-purple seepage gliding along with each contraction of the heart – this is such a time
Jesus
the menacing presence of God
story of altruistic love and violence
hammer pings against spikes
each pulse driving the cost of love higher
against the price of oil and political power

The wise men
Magi
Magus times three
hauling themselves along on rumors
of prophecies left after the captivity
the remnant scholars of Babylon
Persians in search of paradise
Warned to flee along other routes
we cannot have two kings of the Jews now, can we?
Herod, the governor pawn, standing under the silent watch of an all-powerful God

This story of Christmas
repeated for two thousand years
finds new governors and would be kings
and marks again the birth of the Crucified
the chase of the wise men
the crying of Ramah and Rachel
the flight into Egypt
and the slow return to Jerusalem

We are no wiser for having visited the King
we are not safer for having surrounded ourselves with governments and gold
we are not happier having fled our deserts or hidden in the wilderness

We are however
marked by the nails, crowned with thorns and laid in a manger
awaiting resurrection
and the return of the Holy
to the realm of the lost.

This is such a time.

Text © Mike Klumpp