Anointing
Craig Kirchner
He
walks where Christ walked,
humiliated,
barefoot and baptized,
crazed
naked in sacrilege.
Dogs
gather quickly, lead the way,
scent
the adrenaline of purpling flesh,
bite
ankles of graying skin.
A
veiled widow wipes spit and mud
from
his face, her mourning and grief,
levitate
and pass, as he passes.
Tattooed
harlots bring granite nails,
tongue
his wounds, rub loins with balsam oil,
pelt
his ribs with jewelry of thorns.
Groveling
on grotesque knees,
he
bleeds earth on their breasts,
as
lighting strikes in the distance.
Heaven
pauses, reflects on the moment,
seems
awed enough to pull his file,
and
take appropriate notes.