Jesus the Lost Apostle

Hyper Thick Compression Sticks

like Jesus the lost Apostle begotten from Zen

and carved from Chi balancing

in/ rainbows cherub voices fugue

like “smile” on the cutting room floors

of  Billboard’s Top Forty

yeah yeah he hates these cans

and exchoooose me

blunderfoot and bubblehead bounces

in consumption spirals blank

syncopated like cannonball adderly

but a poor man’s version

that’s what I like

make it sparse

make it important

on a hillside at 3 am tingles

trickling spinewords in pinewood caskets

and baskets of wings

clipped by Missus Obstacles

in spent little pentagrams of white chalk dust

escaping

so ignore my days

ignore my gaze

not meant for you

just left over from

another’s reflection bouncing like time

while swinging on vines

or am i a doorbell

ringing

an instant classic that won’t be read on the radio

a stale bread masterpiece with caribou meat

and chalice

balanced at the first supper table’s edge where no one was betrayed in gospel tones and tent revivals

where god gets paid like the mob boss we make him out to be

in harmony off bathroom walls and corridors bleached

meat equals cake

bread equals life

egg is soul

fork is this memory of college before it went bad

and you got lost between the coats, toads and racists

oh bitch face it this dress ain’t for me

magnificent though it is

so go on ignoring

keep on ignoring

me

unintended tragedy singular and hollow

like being lied to at nineteen

when it meant so much

another small gray American upbringing

howling in cracked panes and coarse wood

in roadside shacks beside your car

meditating in motion

and crushing forces