1601 elm on a mediocre at best friday

a roaring waterfall
whitewaters churning
on the building
at the end of the block
a striated chrome
bubble beckonings
with light from the
lackadaisical sun
a distortion of myself
glaring in infinite
reflections of dismay
as a herd waits patient
for the flashing white
to scurry into the
testaments of reckless
expenditure in a
good friday malaise

there was no traffic
as most still slept
a preamble to a man
being nailed firmly
upon a lowercase t
and i tiredly drive
one of the few slobs
forced to endure the
rigmarole of commerce
replaying the sins
he supposedly died for

how pissed off
do you think jesus would be
staring down from
the heavenly kingdom
at an angry ant farm
of soldiers gathering
crumbs for the queen
spoiled little hypocrites
tuned into the nonstop
human carnage unfolding
on their screens in real time
dyeing eggs
gluttonously shoveling
chocolate bunnies
into sinful stomachs
eagerly waiting to stop
eating fish every friday
thinking they represent
the potential of mankind
while praising his name

i don’t consider myself
any sort of believer
but jesus and i
share one commonality
as neither of us
truly ever existed
unless we were necessary
to advance someone else’s
self centered plot
just two stooges
working fingers to the bone
seeking productive solutions
to a world in dire need
of the cleansing embrace
of righteous flames

the sparrows know
every word to every line
ever muttered by
a lost lamb in a garden of sin
of everlasting love
to the three beacons
guiding me through
a gauntlet of disaster
everything else is another
dissociated illusion
straddling the break
between sodden reality
and a paradise of insanity

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