Jealousy

God was dying & twenty-two when he stripped himself

sandal-less, bare feet fleeing from Pharisees

& me – i was washing Jerusalem from between

his toes when i wondered if the name on his breath

belonged to me or to his mother. He was no prophet

in waters where John’s baptism made him smile,

but he wouldn't spread lips for me when i stood

tall in a vain attempt to tongue his mouth, taste

father son & holy ghost gospel revelation preventing

any other person from entering his body's temple.

When he refused the flesh of exposed breast

and buttocks, he was enamored with the trinity,

but they don't wash the cracks of his calluses,

taking in vicious Nazareth stink and holding back

tears when he was dying & twenty-two,

loving the world more than me.