| Poetry: Lust: Jesus is the Centerfold (1/1) |
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The body of Christ. The naked one. Up there, mounted on the wall. Untouched, but sweaty still. Human agony is so devine. But it's God who's beaten. Broken. Bruised. Bleeding all this time. Look upon Him and see the man. Large and attractive, this Savior slashed, arousing in his sculpted submission. Such long legs, and muscled arms. Statue of masculinity in penetration is the focus of our prayers. I can see the warm, dark skin instead of a lifeless blue. Dignity disappears with thorns on head, and spear to side and when tortured quench is offered up. Yet somehow grace is granted to cover up this Messiah's manhood. What's hiding there inside, and will it too rise again? You said it there, right out loud. Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is my body. Now you want apologies for your suffering? You want back the gifts that you sow? Why should I pay for my own presents? I didn't ask you for anything. But I like what you've given me. I am animal. And so are you. I desire. I like sex. I know its smell so well. How dare you make me look up at you like this, and force me to resist the spell. There's S&M amid the pews. The crucifix is a polaroid. Bow! Kneel! Ask for forgiveness. Beg for mercy. What will you do with me now, my Lord? Have I been such a bad bad boy? Will you make me knash my teeth and punish me? You're such a man to take it out on me. I want to be born again! Got the message loud and clear when that priest's hand went down there. Bless me, father. I have been so hard for you since my last confession. |
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Jesus Is the Centerfold