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Neon Yellow Crucifix
Christ and I, we're like that
(I make a cross with my fingers)
He sobs in my arms sometimes, like a drunken bastard
He asks things like 'where did it all go wrong'
In dark rooms together, in night's eternal pitch
the only light comes from a neon yellow crucifix
transfigured upon the wall
like fools we sit at a lame wooden table
(which clatters thru the blackness all
ricket-racketty) and sometimes rums stagger
and roll on the floor.
This upsets Him further.
At first He weeps softly
and scratches His palms --
-- 'shut up', I say
'and drink more rum'
I don't mention the palms
He'll get there soon enough.
Drunk further,
and He's weeping on
ennui, loneliness,
despair.
I'm pretty rote
too tho.
'You're pissing me off Lord.
You're bringing me down'
and in silence watch the image frazzle
in and out electric yellow
of a Man
picking his wounds
opening up the fountains
of a brilliant neon stigmata
asking
Why
Why
Why
Needless to say I leave
I pick up my hat
steal his fegs
and walk out the door
into the rain.
Dripping, Drenching,
MUttering all the while
against a freaky world
which has the audacity
to rain on me.
