Thursday, May 5, 2011

His Name Speared on Tiny Swords

To what green altar, O
papaya, pineapple
in Red Light District
I obey the
Palm Road. I remember

the prayers he must say to
raisin-light, and mixed in
little piles of scrap
huge wads of cash
of this poor sacrifice

uttered by the Roman
people trying to prove
small wads of tissue
Medicine men
a virgin and a faggot

leaning against a pole,
What these represent are
the Israelites
One of my best
within them the more room

I cannot wait until
when Jesus touched his ear
at the Organic
(elder brother of Mose)

To those who are familiar
He takes 22000
Before that time, priests
sliding my hand
tie threads around a banyan

Priest of the holy lord
Long live the priest! His name
speared on tiny swords
and yes in flames
up in mysterious bags

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