07 February 2009

jesus is my homeboy, man

in response to amber fresh

if jesus was a woman - she's like this cyber-resurrection

this spectrum of bold-faced glass ruin
and plaster ripped back to flat pink noise
and binary brick-bat fibres, washed feet and the rest
and clear-skin shit on white walls here

in this room - now - the code
book by book, verse verses verses

this crucifixial remnant twisted at my splintered, wooden neck
this barbarian fragment of unprintable PDF
this cobbled parable of wheatbelt stanzas
a gnu-skool john 3:16 - a sunned-yellow bracken
42 in the fucking shade - no water to walk on here
in the final over

yeah jesus is my homeboy - in this cut n paste town

she's like this superficial relic of capital, baby
as interesting as a rate-cut, an uber-credit bubble
a golden shower of light all across my bleeding hands

this transendental wrecking ball of gods own cup
this floating corpse in yr february moon
all runneth over in the bitumen tears
like an ashtray filled at 4AM

yeah jesus is my homeboy - in this realistic hair

another violent swallow of a fishermens friend
another walk across the Solomon tides
another facebook hit for the apostles

this chokehold Galation sonnet, busting at the fabric
hurting at the seams of emma goldman
split as we split witches, a cycle of curses
bending at the shroud of this 22nd century paradigm

like a statue to the gospel of circumcision
the new testament tattooed across our faces
our discarded skins a vile necklace

yeah jesus is my homeboy
on this saturday night

and jesus, she said:
its not about kissing the kissing boys
its not about the poetic words lost to the wind
in scorched Kalgoorlie streets and random school libraries
its not about the tiny doodle she carries everywhere
its not about the tattered doonas
its not about the corridors of TAFE
or the carpark push
or the trolleys on trolleys
or the marbles in the well
or the soft pubic hair around my anus

is it?

yeah jesus is my homeboy - weeping in the public troughs

sweeping at the wrought-iron bibles
bloated at the base of his clay-footed cancer

she's new to this nativity death scene
the Corinthian clouds of justice overheard in whispers
the art of smashing the state of the state
the temple-tables turned - the money-changers wept

and jesus said unto the mob:

blessed are the windfarm roo tics
a holy space in my chest for Lazurus
here's Johnny with an axe - here's Peter with a stick
David with a syringe - Goliath with a fix
a cup of tea for the global condition

yeah jesus is my homeboy
on this saturday night…


allanboyd - the antipoet
FEB 7, 2009 for Amber Fresh Between You and Me book launch
(written for performance at Spectrum Gallery, Nth Perth)

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

you just killin it with this one, just killin it. we shoulda had our chat after you read this, insteada before