BABYLON
Some nights the light relapses.
A bitter dogwood & the barking door.
when Jesus comes too soon
to croon his neck out at the audience,
he false-starts. Turns around.
Puts all behind him. Simply put,
Jesus decides against the resurrection.
Unknowingly, he leaves
a pillow book entombed.
The rest is Word some king rewrote
to leave us with the word of god.
Fact checked for centuries,
we're still here waiting on return.
Give it a rest, expensive fable.
Give it a rest. To rest, somebody leaves
their sentence struck-through on the dash.
Posthumous text when my acrylics click
the keyboard, free EMDR in morning light.
I babble on
To end the story of its running mouth,
the brook waves back.
Some running header, the horizon sought
its document, I guess
that I'm still here
still placing words into your tired mouth.
Here hanging out in Babylon
with your long-bottled lip
of synonyms, the paper trails
that shuffle by my door,
A scheduled ghost.
A textless thread of close
Calls clinging to your teeth like dogwood blossoms.
TYPO
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