outsider's sabbath

love me, ally payne

“Something there is that does not love a wall.” -robert frost

You would never know what lyes inside. Not unless you are brave enough for breach the great walls. Walls that fortify the divine and the deep pockets of America’s wealthy rulers. I have slipped my Trojan horse body into this sacred space and lye still as in the belly of a great muddy trench. But my walls can not decieve as the church’s ivory stone or the wooden flanks of cattle. Mine are baked dark from the coffee farming of my African brothers and there are thick smells of trashcan fires and treatment centers escaping from the corners of my lips. During the second hymn my legs would not carry me upwards as the invitation urged. Left behind with the old men beneath the weight of weary sleep and sin. There is no place for me this side of the wall, where Christmas trees crowd out holy saints pulpits and white beards line the rows of pews like Romans going into battle. calvary. the homeless. jesus. Something there is that does not love a wall.