Falling into ashes? Never.
Assortments of blue,
most terrible orange and red.

Never.

I sigh relief inexorably tied
to the carpenter and choirmaster within.
While nooses and crosses abound,
I sneer at blue eyes dramatically.

Judas, Judas, Judas,
smoke a phatty and call it Good Friday.

Previous Poem | Next Poem

---

Previous Chapbook | Next Chapbook
(Back to Individual Poems)