And he shall lean his hand [forcefully] upon
the head of the burnt offering
The intimacy with the victim
An innocent of the kingdom.
The sacrificer burdened with
Later a meal for priests and
a fragrance for the Unseen.
This animal breathed and
had every hope to breathe again.
Your hand on its head –
the least you could do.
And the descendants of Aaron the kohen
shall place fire on the altar
The key here is not the task
but who is doing it.
Not just the living descendants
but every descendant
from our time at the mountain
to the time when
electronic poems tell you
what it’s all about.
This is the life-long contract
when you’re born with
Cohen tacked on to your first name,
Don’t blame your mom and dad.
This predates them by
It is a burnt offering, a fire offering [with]
a pleasing fragrance to the Lord.
Imagine the nostrils of the Lord
Imagine the fragrances that
would find favor in the holiest
of nostrils of the Lord
This is the great Bath and Body Works
in the sky.
This is the people selling incense
at Venice Beach, hoping they’re close.
This is the air-freshener of your dreams
the Glade plug in of your fantasies.
Your nostrils should be so lucky
to smell what the priests
cooked up for the Lord.