Stuck in the throat of the wind

is a song, a dirge for Golgotha;

where Mary’s eyes, like this poem

became drip lines; Peter wished

he did a cardiac arrest for the crow

that just died in the beak of a cock;

Judas was haunted by the ghost

of his murdered conscience-  it

whistled non-stop in his pocket,

&sang a naked song (stripped of

its beats) like this one: “you too

Judas will be killed with a plate

of poisoned kisses; nails &hammers

had no respect for a carpenter’s son.

They sent Him off soaked with blood

& spittle while farewell songs brewed

from the shattering sounds of breaking

hearts: Mary’s, Martha’s &Lazarus’

sandwiched between.

As Jesus trekked down the streets

of the afterlife, Death found him,

hugged & hosted a blood stained guest

who mocks her every Easter with a

piercing grin and one thorny question:

“Death where is thy sting?”

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