Pretentious Word Nonsense

those who can, speak!
those who dare, speak!
it is a right
but not one freely given.

the mother was holy
though she worked in the field
scrubbed clothes with hands raw and swollen from water
fingers calloused with labor
full of pain and blood and fluid as well as her son

the beasts of the field are holy
they are a pure sacrifice
though they eat, shit, fuck, age and die
their bodies crawl with worms when they do not writhe in fire

the desert is holy, too, the wild places, the adobe of prophets
the dust falling from their robes was once bone
locusts and honey fed holy bodies
this empty space holds beasts and visions alike

the stars gaze upon all things as they dance their ceaseless waltz

as i am, so you, too, are holy