Poem: The Blood of Christ


 I always have been

The problem child of the family

Living the holiest of lives

Last night they found me in a field

Soiled front and back

Hypothermic and blithely hysterical

Swaddled in my own pink delirium

Oh, nurses!

When you washed my naked body

Did you feel like you were cradling

The dying body of Christ?

I tried to sing for you

Through the festoonery of my IV drips

My liver may have been bewitched

But my heart and lungs have never been better

Maybe in a few hours

These hiccups will have stopped

But right now I need to go

And bathe myself in the blood of Christ



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