Revelations 

Yesterday, the rapture came.
I was sitting with a Tsing-Tao,
minding my own business in a
room full of communists,
when Christ leapt off of the wall-
Much like an overly bored still life.
Maybe Christ's a chinaman, who knows?
If there are a billion of them,
why wouldn't there be one who
was just like Christ?
Or just like you?
A painting, or a lithograph
[more accurately], was indeed
the second coming- I read it in
hot mustard and sweet soy.
The potstickers were fingers,
pointing the way to Heaven's gates.
Needless to say, there is a cosmic
battle being fought- In every
squandered grain of rice.

Through the windshield of a
post lo mein seige,
the eye of the illuminatus pyramid
winks in a subset sunset.
On the way south of town,
I dissect your words with the
visceral imprint of tongue on tooth.
I swear I can read its mind.
Welcoming swivel to the basin,
it tells of the rapture,
come and gone. Newly glimmering.
The world barely rustled,
and surely didn't blink.
Yesterday, the rapture came-
And noone even noticed.
All of us sinners are still here.

© Isaac Seal/Ca