transcendentalism-1

The Transcendental Gospel of Freddie Gray

When his spine snapped, Freddie
Gray became kindling, became
New England pond water.
Without vertebrae
intact, he was free to move
beyond the
confines of
spine.

The movement of his neck
was one of inquiry, one of commas
bent into question marks. Joining Thoreau, then,
on Walden Pond, the only sound
they both heard was a distant rumble from the railroad

as it churned toward profit,
westward –
seeking –
coal burning –
like the storefronts
on Pennsylvania Avenue. Freddie

Gray trusted his own instincts,
the way we are told not to. He ran –
his thighs, locomotives, engines, accelerating
towards a broken track –
derailment inevitable
on
that
street. His gospel was written

on the sidewalk then, the place all holy texts are written –
the street – the intersection where
son of man
meets
son of law.

Note: When Jesus found people selling merchandise in the temple courtyard, he flipped tables and cursed the profiteers for disrespecting God’s home. Funny how we didn’t crucify him right then for destroying public property.

Listen to Freddie sing that sidewalk temple hymn –
Wise living that’s what I love.
The melody played in reverse
like a fractured
post-industrial
lullaby.

Its cadence, its meter,
railroad ties,

becoming pitchforks
becoming fire
becoming riot gear
becoming
preacher
and
pulpit.

The one reality of spirit
shackled and dragged and
spelled seven ways
on seven news networks –

 “Inward dwelling, that’s what I love.”

The transcendental gospel of Freddie Gray
was not written to please, but to convince.

Comments 4

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *