
Cowered, not Coward
I dodged Pop’s midget, ashy fist
Fear was the currency
I would not make him rich.
When Jesus therefore received the vinegar, he said:
It is finished.
He bowed his head and
Gave up the ghost.
But I am no quitter
Welcome Back, Parasite!
Says the host to the ghost, long after
Pop’s last gasp and he died
He is Arisen
Made flesh in lovers and passersby
Who animate the barbs.
The pain is strangely comfortable
A lazy boy recliner bedazzled in splinters
It is all I’ve ever known
Ouch
Was he right to make hate
His daily bread
And me, the Whine?



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