Scraggy-soul street preacher, frocked in great black robe rends the air, bullhorn shaking:“Jesus saves!” No one hears.
In dawn light, mega trucks designed for mega trash of high-rises devour dumpsters, spray painted with “Jesus Saves!” No one sees.
Watermelon-breasted crone heaves “Jesus Saves!” beneath T-shirt, faded by multiple washings, its message bereft of soul-juice. No one tastes.
Bumper-sticker missiles, “Jesus Saves!” Americanized in red-white-blue, careen Interstates. Distances carefully maintained. No one touches.
“Jesus Saves!” emblazoned upon our anemic culture: its hollow posturing, a morass of slow starvation. Yet from its sludge oozes an inchoate whimper. Could it be, “Jesus Saves?”
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