A Poem for Good Friday

Good Friday


Jesus, I want my sins back.

My prattle, pride, and private prices — 

climbing, clinching, clocking — 

I might loan you a few for the evening,

so you don’t show up at your own crucifixion

naked of all purpose.

But for God’s sake, don’t spill any

redemption on them! They’re my

signature looks. Body by Envy.

Make up & wardrobe provided by Avarice. Lord,

if you take away my inordinate cravings,

what the hell’s left? Do you know

how much I paid for my best rages?

I want them all back if they’re

so To Die For. Else shred my palms,

wash my face with spit, let the whip

unlace my flesh and free the naked blood,

let me be tumbled to immortality

with the stew of flood debris

that is my life.

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