The Gospel of Tobit

by George Elliott Clarke   The Gospel of Tobit   I. Though all my kin were seduced, persuaded, to sacrifice—I mean, murder— their kids, their heirs, in homage to the golden goat that King Jeroboam had the gall to erect— statuesque atop a Galilee hill— know that I spat, “Never!” Rebelling, jaunted I to Jerusalem, ferrying with me apples, figs, pomegranates, tangerines, and leading a tithe of milk-dripping cows and young sheep burgeoning with wool. To the correct theologians, the misanthropic priests, brought I tithes of bread, tithes of red wine, tithes of olive oil, to urge on their...

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