Sunday, August 25, 2013

Buddhist Jesus

curled in the corner of my closet
the smell of sheep
died green
rain toxicated
my rippped preppy sweater
like suicide juice

in the shadow
of the steel recycling plant
trying to find
what might have become
his corpse:

the young comrade surging
forward in the rapids
tryna get out of the hood.

no resurrection
no redemption
no commune
in these memories

no hope in fact
just exhausted love

a Buddhist Jesus
playing nirvana
throwing back
strong spirits

between the beat
downs and bars
of seattle rain

Inspired by Eli Hastings, Clearly Now the Rain