some freewrites because sleeplessness, my grammar is awesome.

despite what the architects say,
no steeple is quite the shape
of that hole in the sky
at the top of Golgotha
(the Aramaic word
for skull)
the night purity
was martyred.
Crucifixion was a game
invented by the Romans,
called,
let's erase mercy
from the dictionary.
Even murderers -
(one of which Christ was not -)
are human,
and I don't believe dignity
to be a merit bade
only allotted to
the upstanding.
Would you call yourself perfect?
Would you die if you were?
Did holiness scream?
Does it bleed?
Don't let the righteous confuse you,
Perfection is, in fact,
unattainable.
Condemnation shouldn't be
doled out like
soup kitchen lunch
on credit,
but these days it seems,
grace has a price.
So when they tell you,
the crosses in church
should remind us
to behave,
ask yourself if those
ornamental trees
have ever held nails
and public examples.
Contrary to popular belief,
crucifixion involves
nailing through the wrist,
not palm.
It only takes a slit to kill,
but Christ was trophied
with wrist-wounds
the size of the pillars
the church throws
atop those "less worthy,"
eloi, eloi, lama sabacthani,
my god, my god,
why hast thou forsaken me?
did you know that
Jesus and I
once sang that duet,
harmonies spaced by
2 milennia
and a lack of divinity
on my part.
But God is tied in my shoelaces,
my wrists have never
held bulletholes in their frames,
but the church should have
grown out of steeples
long before any resurrection.

+++

it's time to stop pretending
that i see poetry's ghosts
or prophecies
on my eyelids.
documentation is essential
to prove that i am
actually searching
for something.
talking hasn't always
come easy,
some girls wait
as long as possible
for their voiceboxes
to mature
as if the waiting room
would endow our vocal chords
with a sense
of confidence
or at least certainty,
for my part
i used to count my words
like pennies
but copper tongues
are solid
so this is nothing
but making up
lost time.