Sudden as a flung moonís rubescence, 30 pieces of silver
for that slack kiss. Its apostasy.
Derelict among the Chosen, caught napping among fishes
and loaves, Heís betrayed by the raging
crowds. Heís flayed scarlet
for their amusement. Found wanting.
Without council, He combusts, unreprieved by His scald
of forgiveness, abjured by a cock
crowing 3 times.
Heís nailed, sotto voce, to an armís length of swelter, hung politically
Forget keeping up appearances. Affixed to their own trees,
a duo of bad boys claim His coat-tails
while a dazed rift of angels
from His forehead. They must lift Him out of seismic doom,
to bloom briefly, inside the barbwire of His Fatherís
Forget forensics. He turns posthumous hustler,
while the tomb mimics
Millennia later, He still itches for recognition, unacknowledged
in His quest for perfection.
At the end of the day,
Heís dismayed by the outcome but furtively praying
to be smuggled