cult of crucifixation

in the beginning was the word
and the word was us
pressed between ungiving pages
and yet in touching we multiplied

so what was first
was word made flesh
or did flesh make the words

scope and more we had to withhold
to give him all praise
his narcissism walled us off
to ourselves, ne’er to fit in

and what of his thirst
for our blood made blest
we venerated the absurd

he showed us we were never worthy
he broke our hearts
this round hole passover pricker
no forgiving this time, the abuse must end


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GUEST POST // A Diptych for Pain by Krishna Prasad

Words after words double march
in not just your war
Unwritten poems upon poems pile up
in bleeding hearts
…the squeaking hinges
let love in through the leaves
seize your pen my co- warrior
Press the ink, take a hit
This war soon be over
Heals writing; you are worth more than this


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