poetry

kiss cursed

in the final moments before

you set yourself swinging

tell me, what were you thinking of?

what had filled those three homeless years

in the moments between the stories we see?

a coin filched slyly from the moneybag —

a self-righteously seething sneer

at the tears and perfume of a prostitute?

tell me, did you really love the poor

or just the wealth flowing through your fingers?

and after all the miracles, signs and wonders

after the dead walked from the tomb alive

you sold Him for four months’ silver

the Son of God betrayed at a bargain basement price

tell me, when you kissed Him

your faces only breaths apart

did you feel nothing at all?

cursed is he who hangs on a tree …

could it be yours was a heart-broken fall?

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