JOHN THE BAPTIST BEFORE HEROD

His voice is the rattle of coins
Jostling in an old leather purse,
His eyes dust
Shaken from sandals.
I have no business with this man.
He is Golgotha, ravenous fear,
An innocent long ago slaughtered,
He bears his father's sins.
He cannot look at me.
I call out. A great wind
Whistles through his marrow.
I call him by name,
But he hears nothing.

HEROD REGARDS JOHN THE BAPTIST BEFORE HIM

Who is this wreck that infects my dreams,
this rag, this howling dog?
No matter. Soon out of life,
he will not even stir dust.

The poison, I see, starts to work:
his pupils gray, heavy as lead balls,
the whites blood-shot.
A growl rises from deep inside him.
His brain, I sense, is about to boil.

Words will soon follow.
The entertainment begins.