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*

A concrete abutment a bowl of water a golden
bough in the hands of a madman a fear of meat a
trick of the light an abandoned shaft a broken
body in the reeds.

I held my head in my hands again and wept.
Jesus wept. My old friend Jim Lineberger
wept, too.

He couldn’t hardly stop it.

*

Once I stood in front of a mirror and drew red ribbons
on my chest and arms with a razor blade and shook
and trembled and little droplets of blood flew from
my body and made pitter-patter sounds on
the linoleum floor.

But I am much better now.

*

A concrete abutment and the golden bowl is inset
into the top of it where it catches what falls from the sky.
A handful of rainwater glistens in the belly of the bowl
and makes the sound of an angel brushing dirt
from its wingtips.

Look around you, there’s no one singing.
There’s no one singing. There’s just
that guy over there, holding a golden bowl.

It’s sad.

He’s so old he’s pissed himself.
He laughs like a pervert and points
to the river of gold at his feet as if
to rebuke us all and you look around

but there’s not a soul in sight although
you swear you can hear someone.
What’s that they’re singing? Yes,
what is that song?

Okay, I will tell you.

*

You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.

You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.

You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.
You are my holy one.

You are as the flames of fire.
You are as the flames of fire.
You are as the flames of fire.

You are my holy one.

*

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