I woke up woundable
Didn’t realize it until
I lay there face down
In the mud of hatred
Ever-fresh as the Jews’
If not for Jesus’ throes
Innumerable
Indescribable
But nameable
There–
In place of all haters–
I would avenge His
Deepest lacerations
And His mother’s
I, too, would hate
Yes, a good reminder
And never welcomed.
.
.
.
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