Your propium, your ego, fallen flesh,
yon heart of stone that nearly fills your jar
is doomed! unless the Saviour fills that jar
with holy living water from the New
Jerusalem out of a boundless sea
of oil and wine, like Zeno's paradox
flipped right-side up, perfecting without end,
infinitesimal Ezekiel's feet
no longer able to touch ground. But if
you dare to touch that oil and wine, you kill
two witnesses, you crucify two thieves,
which is the night, the feet of iron and clay,
which is the fourth phase pale horse, death and hell,
when voice of of bride and bridegroom sound no more.
Dead night is when the priest and Levite pass;
they pour not oil and wine into those wounds
inflicted on one robbed and left for dead.
