Some kind of crucifiction
There’s a small tickat the corner of your mouthwhere it plummets into sadnessmuscles dropped beneath the skinstretching each and every yearto a sculpture wrought with slackness.Here the lines are sharp engrainedlike paper mache puppetstelling us just where you’ve beenand how the weather claimed you.………………………………………………………………………………………Shadows writhe on city streetsyou hold the smell of mountainssky so blue it filched the tintfrom your eyes leaving us staring into opaquehardness wondering what is missing:trying to find a meaning.…………………………………………………………………………………….There’s a small tear in your sidewe’re not talking aboutthe blood of Christ,but something similar.After the Ave Mariasno holy water can assuage your thirstand the two robbers on either sidesimply take up space.……………………………………………………………………………………Perfumed oilsheat of desert suncacophany of tombsrevisitingmy lost extension.