The Prophet Jeremiah
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
The prophet Jeremiah blends in a crowd, mustard brushes his sleeve,
out on divine parole, the stall line at Coachella proved larger than his bladder.
Tomorrow’s chariot of hope was nonchalant while asking for a plumber,
civilization’s trajectory oversight required Narcan resuscitation.
Washed up messiah got lost on the way in,
late for his last supper he broke a thong jaywalking.
Over the hill Lama, didn’t read the terms & conditions,
world bearing shoulders shrug off would be miracles
like water down an armadilla’s back (a W. Bush “armadilla” as seen in Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 when Barney chases one down a hole).
Humanity’s reserve chute slipped the mind.
The prophet Jeremiah holds open the door,
the willing take a noxious step off
Hook’s threshing world, into a tooth
fairytale matrix of loss as gain.
The prophet Jeremiah didn’t ask much,
let your eyes wander and your heart
speak, together the world listens.