by Mark Robinson.
A man of sorrows
Bold as a lion
Calls everything by name
Despite his sadness.
Every day we have to choose—
Forget the system of rewards,
Glance at the sky and look for any bit of blue.
He came all this way and he still isn’t happy.
Interring the bodies in the ocean,
Jarring those asleep in his anger,
Knowing every window faces south.
Lingering
Memories,
Novelties
Of
Prince-hood.
Queen Widow, your son will
Reign at the moment of your death, that
Sorrow of a man,
Thoughtful, wearing black
Under every garment,
Vines grew down his back
Wild and alone and exposed. We found
X-rays in black and white,
Years later, confirming it was Jesus we had put in the
Zoo.