I Do Not Know

But if you do not know yourselves, then you dwell in poverty and are the poverty.

I do not know and I know: I know the beginning and ending but the between betwixts and bewitches, a bitches brew. The between twins Taryn, a tarn target and twa sisters, the cistern and cauldron cooking Christianity. I boil Christianity down to its bones and marrow, a stew steel stone, and stone strops wheat stalks, the soapy sinews. I know and do not know its Christianity: I know beginning and ending but its between bivalves bisexual vision, a doubling desert and degree, a song of degrees and a song of ascent, and I ascend to Jerusalem. I journey Jerusalem, Jesus to Passover, and Yahweh passes over me. Yahweh passes over me a bloody bridegroom bridging circumcision and communion, and he knows me as a husband. He knows me Christian, a disciple disciplined by Jesus, the naked man who flees from his bondage. I flee but his flesh chains my flesh, Christ concatenation and catechism, and each link lines knowledge. Link limbs to my limb a plumb line measuring gnosis, and in the wall I dwell with Rahab the Woman. In the wall I dwell with Rahab the Dragon, and she is a Woman, and the Woman drinks my prayer and poverty. She drinks my letters and scripture, scrubbing the scribe from Word, and the remnant is Holy Spirit.