Publish the Word
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Yeshua -- 23, Legion

In the beginning. . .
was the word

 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Psalms 68:11

xxiii Legion


Mud-splotched, chiggered, thorn-matted hair

     and beard, naked, a scurried, spidery-

crawl on all fours, snarls, bellows, less human


the more they heard: the man squatted atop

     a summit of scree and howled.  Yeshua

disembarked the boat; his disciples stayed.


Vine-webbed cave tombs of the Gadarenes

     loomed as home.  Yeshua held out his hand.

The man wailed, flung stones, sun-caked feces.


Don't torture me, Son of the Most High. 

     Eyes rolled back white, his mouth foamed.

Rusted manacles tore hiswrists and ankles raw.


Gently, Yeshua asked his name.  His eyes re-

     aligned, red-veined, fogged.  Black pupils

darted like two wrens desperate to escape.


He spat at them, fanged his claws.  Each word

     seemed aimed with venom.  Legion, for we

are many.  As Yeshua approached, the man raked


his chest, tormented.  He growled.  Yeshua spoke

     too soft to hear, but spirit entities, burrowed

in like termites, heard.  In echoing echoes they


commandeered the voice and cried:  Don't send us

      into the Abyss!  Have mercy!  A herd

of  two thousand swine cropping a nearby slope


became new hosts:  in moments, mass panic,

     a stampede to suicide.  Headed for the lake,

they took the cliffs.  Their drowning feat was a


spectacle their herders rushed off to tell.  The town

     ran back, terrified that their demoniac sat clothed,

clear-minded, freed.  Begged to leave, Yeshua did.