Tuesday, June 9, 2015

We Christians

Ever since Constantine
We've been as sweet as Jesus
And killing with the passion
Of pagans.  At some point

In the life of an alcoholic
He has to make a choice:
Your story, or your life. 
Words go on as smoothly

As the plaster plasterers
Use to fill in the cracks
Or the artisan uses
To shape the acts of a saint

On the fa├žade of a church
Built to repel an attack.
The heart is like a monk
Buried in the library

Looking for proof
It doesn’t need any.

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