| The court has been made
|
| Kind of real through ritual
|
| But up close
|
| I found the kings hands tiny
|
| In Sams redeeming qualities
|
| I tried on
|
| My dad’s white turtle neck
|
| Tucked it in as if I’d tried on his tipton belly
|
| I removed every single photograph
|
| Of the crucifixion
|
| From the National Gallery
|
| Stashed 'em all under my raincoat
|
| Bounced right out that front door
|
| Heads up, aware to not smirk or hurry
|
| The baby faced security guard 'No problem'
|
| Absorbed in a picture book on sharks
|
| There’ll be no more proof
|
| Any of it ever happened
|
| Like there was never even any crucifixion
|
| Tried to sell them as forgeries
|
| Eating myself sick on three cheese
|
| At our open end
|
| Oh, fromage and public loneliness
|
| Flipped a big plastic bucket
|
| Got myself an ottoman
|
| Oh, fromage and public loneliness
|
| Oh, fromage and public loneliness
|
| Oh, fromage and public loneliness
|
| Oh, fromage and public loneliness |