Divine Excretions

The Lord of Lords, the King of Kings
squatting down to take a shit.
Constipated for many days,
the hole is now a full pit.

Defecation as a divine
demarcation. This is our
God? Our Messiah? Crucify!
And at once the people cried:

“What blasphemous waste is this,
that God should have to take a piss?”

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Who Will Save me From This Body That Is Subject To Death?

Sonorous nonsense driven home with gestures
which bifurcate the conferential notion of reality.
Demarcating experience into a disingenuous echo of truth –
where is the line?
Do we draw it ourselves?

Everything I know,
and everything I hold dear
is a self-induced narcotic
that structures my life
into a complex that helps me sleep at night.
(Not.)

I am not a son.
I am not a student.
I am not an employee.
I am not culture with a (capital) c –

I am not a structured
existential
coping
methodology.

I am not you –
I am not me.
I am

destined for death.

.dead.

(What else is there?)

Prayer after hours

My knees are calloused,
and my shoulders tense.
Four missed calls,
eight voicemail.
Not as many as You though
One migraine,
two broken hearts,
three unpaid bills
five raisins,
six Forgotten,
seven Unknown..
no hope.
Call me hunchback;
maybe it’s my posture
or maybe you don’t care,
but the silence of the floorboards
tell me:
why?