Photos of Jesus
Two years ago when the sun glanced off water
a northern pike named Jesus didn’t care
how dead he should have been arched
into the sun before the camera could take
a second picture. Spreading his fins he found
an antidote believed in a monastery
of camels and horses and pickup trucks
cinder block basements wedding day leisure suits
bow ties balding braids trips to an old chest x-ray
fishing with Buddhist prayer flags
waving from New York city apartments.
The arch of his wife’s back recounts
withered red white blue basket balls
offering scholarships planting bamboo
in the backseat of a convertible because.
The sommelier will not let her get away.
We go out the back door we go out the we go
weave woven whisk educate rot he’s gotten
bigger from the travels of our host
circumnavigating ribs skin water eyes elbows
knees ankles veins arteries tendons. The lamp
in the back of his room no longer hungers.
Nathaniel Vincent Mohatt | Mudlark No. 42 (2011)
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