Jesus stands in a pot on a shelf above
my right shoulder.
Backwards head in a robe, couple scrapes
but he’s not getting older.

He once rode in a van on a road next to
a maniac.
Big wide grin on a face facing north,
the idiot brainiac.

Jesus, man, don’t lose it.
Just gave you a dime.
You walk way out there and lose your shit,
I’m swimming all the time.

Walk back from the ocean.
Grab yourself some sleep.
We’ll go to town and talk about birds,
or we can get real deep.

Jesus looks at an H on a plate and recalls
an old birthday.
Winters spent in a globe, a thousand shakes,
years, before love had its way.

He’ll get glued, on a bench, when his next time comes.
How’s three sunsets?
Body by a frame, head on a spring.
Jesus, are you done yet?

Let’s let this show start rollin’.
Let’s let us find our way.
Let’s let us relax and take our time
remembering how to play.

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