Mrs. Vitoldi

When I start to lose it
When the circus music starts to play in slow-mo
I cry out to the Father
I get down on my knees and think about Eisenstein’s buggy
I close my eyes and listen to the wheels roll down each silent step
I see the jitter and the jump
The dust and the scratches
I hear Joshua marching on Jericho
The trumpets spraying fear
Walls falling and Russians crying
Eisenstein does Jericho
Propaganda physique
Hanging like meat
In the priestly silent film balance
My prayer answered and grace abounds