R.D.’s Jesus

Posted on March 8, 2004 in Poems

Note: This poem is inspired by my resident stalker over at The Gutless Pacifist, someone who would be appalled to discover that like Celia of Swift’s poem “The Lady’s Dressing Room“, Christ (and the Buddha) shit.

Do not think of me as flesh, but as graven images;

Stone or bronze or clay or plaster, hollow on the inside, airy

Like the emptiness of the iceless tundra between the planets and the stars.

Do not look at the stars and think “Out of that came the stuff of my bones, my meat”.

For I am stone, I am bronze, I am clay, I am plaster, I am nothing like you and you are not of my world.