Christ was married on the cross,
my father was married to my mother,
and I am married to a cigarette butt
lying in the gutter.
I struggle to don the armor of faith
Chafing cuirass of dogma
Words ring down the millennia
Echo in deeds both great and small
Phantoms stride dead battlefields
Winter lays her gentle frost
Smoke and light goes before us
Announce our coming reaping
Holy Ghost, sacred Father, the lost
Christ was married on the cross
No room for family in that Trinity
A sailor, believes he lies with a prostitute
Both of them deceived
Nature of duality
We harbor both sides, inside.
One child, an accidental brother
Three years grace as an only child
One is enough, they think
Until pinning their hopes on another
My father was married to my mother
Then he wasn’t;
Exiled for his sins
Sent out of his home
For a crime of passion
Left all alone
Mongrel, mutt
Destined to wander
Crawl the earth in search of a bone
Cursed by his vices, his smut,
And I am married to a cigarette butt
My father’s armor is rusted and worn
Chafes where my spare frame misfits
I wear it wrong but he’s not here to correct
So I make do—
Unable to stand as tall
Underbreath curses I utter
Relegated to awkwardness
Forever in search of righteousness
Destined to pass my final heart’s flutter
Lying in the gutter.
2023.09.05 – 2023.12.03
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