From the Anti to the Christ

I built the murder in the night
and asked if I could give it your name.
I coiled the bones around your ankles
and blamed god for the splinters.


How I yearned to see your ribs
extend in the wind and your
back arch but you never
moved again.


I never saw the hand that killed
you until it was digging your grave,
I never said no and now wear
your skin, bury my children in it.

I built a city of light and broke
it against the darkness, I knew a
devil too young, we never named
the day you died but I never forgot
the morning he was born.


I burned crosses in back alleys,
i taught in tongues and gestured
in sin, begetting my knife and
bleeding your blood.


Warrior king, in the days
that follow your apocalypse
i hope to be sitting in a leather
recliner cursing your father
and praying that your second
murdering was not in waste.



dear dallas i hate your cowboys.