Judas In Confess
Have gone through the great lengths of
sacraments. Meeting Christ’s sunburnt skin
pinned on a cross roughly-hewn coupled with
Pre Hispanic syllabic script cushioned onto its north edge.
(his body a graffiti of throes tie-dyed in blood-flecked sweat thereon)
On the highway, bound northeast towards Dusk Boulevard,
have recounted Mary’s chained beads-slash-companions
rolled between fingertips roundabout her wrists. (her virginity seeps thereunder)
I have psalms and odes
to propel me
all-throughout the free-flowing
of mid-daydreams' split-endedness whose
crazed reveries sprout from
midnightlymares' common civility.
Christ. Mary. Psalms and odes.
Yet my faith abandons its strength.
(for good) I lay back now,
Let me rest.
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