Rice - False Prophet

ALSO BY STAN RICE

Red to the Rind 2002

The Radiance of Pigs 1999

Fear Itself 1995

Singing Yet: New and Selected Poems 1992

Body of Work 1983

Whiteboy 1976

Some Lamb 1975

Paintings 1997

Lord, hear me out.
At the point of our need
The storehouse shares its shambles.
We are calling to the heart
And desire information from place.
We call on the pain in the wicked.
They are prosperous, their footmen
Have wearied, their servants
Are swollen. But this is a walk in the park.
How are we going to keep up
With the coming floods. If we cant
Handle this we cant handle
The collar. Listen to this.
Listen to the straightforwardness of this.
Surely all day he has
Broken my bones in gall.
My leash he has caught in a hedge.
He lay as a bear pulled in pieces.
The arrows of his quiver have entered
My gravel. I have forgotten strength.
I have even forgotten about mercy.
Every morning I chisel a shadow
In springtime. Cheer my designs.
Provide me my desert to die in.
Great my might that erases
My heart. I cant make it past this.
My lamentations in winter and harvest
Have doomed to captivity my despised
Family. My looted father
Is chained to a wall in sewage.

But nobody's listening. Ive heard the weeping
Of the children as they were being
Cooked. But we can sing it.
Even if I am being scaled like a fish by you
I will not accuse you of my gloom.
I have an answer to that.
Our bellies are envious. We want it.
We want that promotion. We want
That pride. Their eyes are fat.
Therefore the riches increase
And are cast out in vain.
I would offend the fears
Of my mind if I struggled
With baloney. And I say no way.
Not a person alive I hope
Springs to his life but by
Lifting it up and claiming it.
The giant-killer paws the fair field.
I am chased by morning.
I am slippery.
Selah.

Im tired of the fellowship of words,
The abundance of tradition.
Already it is wet outside
And my heart is a red stick
Beating a word.
My goal is impossible.
I am fully persuaded that staying-power
Is what keeps the true story alive.
It is what we do.
People began to sift through my lifestyle.
I came to know the backdrop against which
Mysteries happen covered with dirt.
There was dirt even on depth.
Eavesdroppers dwelled on my faults.
All by himself I was.
I walked with pagans.
I was one with anything grateful.
But I had no clue.
Feed me to the lions in the morning,
Then the body will be filled.
My life will be prayerless.
Then will the knowing come forth
As a reward for the subjective
And passionate. I long
But I dont know
My own heart.
Explosions feel good.
The pollen is enticed.
I am excited by heavenly places.
But listen.

How can we nail one hand
To the altar
Then go forth in the willingness
To be comfortable
And liked. We dont do
What needs to be done.
We dont see the miraculous because we need
Props. Like a tongue in its entirety
I long. Let the Red Lobster
Burn down, go to hell, in the earth,
Today. Some of us will be caught
A day late with a goat head
On our shining table.
But a dark spiral will
Eventually be made perfect
In our weakness. The enemy
I am running from is in
The midst of the enemy.
I was essentially hiding.
I woke out of my sleep
And put my stone pillow
Outdoors. If only
I had my own house.
This is not whining.
This is the dollar I am short.
Selah.

I lay my head on a pillar
But was not prepared with a sacrifice.
Do you understand the distinction.
That's wonderful.
But there's a difference between seeing
And doing. A contrite heart
Walks uprightly growling.
I say this with love.
But dont admire me.
Be at my side.
Move with me.
See, we are waiting to be asked
To hold our breath.
Be prepared to move toward the problem.
Just this last Friday night
We opened the doors
And in came some ushers.
In the kingdom of places parts are a wave.
If you rush, the ferry will be on its way.
As will I.
Selah.

Is that old sock in the back yard
In a coffee can worth going to hell for.
Is a Superdome full of screaming women.
Im burdened for you.
I cant help it.
I havent been able to sleep all week,
Thinking about you who harden your necks.
All down the line my brain burned
As I pondered. How many times
Have you resisted the word
Then got cut off by a taxi.
Wroth, but to no avail. As
He who was stoned down to the last billy goat.
But he never listened.
His fingernails and toenails grew like the talons of the birds.
Listen now.
Are you going to have your way or bust.
Well then youll just have to bust. A raving
Message matters not to a jar.
Send the spirit of a fool to cry in the night.
On my heart lay terror.
We are not talking about the category of casual visitors.
A pointed man can sit
And wonder eternally. Day after day
You must pay the bills, but until you do that
You have been told.
Families have perished, have turned
And burned. Yet you have not heard
The soft-soap of flesh in the message.
Hell wont be hot enough to roast the both of us.

The smooth road gnashes its teeth.
In our living rooms, I tell you.
Your way will be washed of its will
Like a new creature. Someone
Will find you cold and blue in the bed
Some morning.
Itll be too late. Death wont
Wear off like aftershave. That's why
Butterflies like sweet water.
Im burdened for you.
I cant help it.
Listen now.
Selah.

An invisible government controls everything.
We dive right into a 43 year old truck driver.
The pizzas are wrapped in dynamite.
My wife and I got on the bulletproof bus.
No one knows for sure what tactic
Is disproportionate. Slowly, daily,
The dramatic is reduced. But the fantasy
Is the strategy. I can only
Speak for myself. Every result
Is the source of a third thing.
Historically input has its own head.
Its eyes are always the mob's.
Oil is murdered.
With the other hand roads are made smaller.
Theyre not going to drink it.
That's not the real threat.
On one pole is the agenda and on the other
There you sit.
Therefore they want a big war.
There is such bloodshed every throat
Is a fantasy. It's a paradox.
The theory is that the simple
Is exciting if the dialogue
Is the issue. The spiritual side
Prepares for the end of time.
Help those who are lost.
And their scribes.
Selah.

I have arranged for the decades for months now.
Understanding presents its products.
No one wants to fight over violence.
Point-blank the priests hauled away
Thousands of tons of Mongols
And Turks. But here's what I want to know.
What does energy want of a ton of stone.
The cries are debatable.
The shield unites with the signs.
The schemes are protected by artifacts.
Remember the outcries from documents.
Outrages are sitting ducks.