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?”