the lonliest jesus

christ is warm here,
the drug in the piss that failed the test.
tell us all about him serrano,
let us see the halo of death in his hair.
as golden as a savior, as yellow as a coward.
so photogenic that it’s made them all sick.
these days he feels out of place in a masterpiece,
but right at home in a pue with
shifty-eyed, half-hearted prayers and cigar burns.
he looks so still now,
like a maniquin displaying the newest of trends,
the ammonia stinging the holes in his hands.
from billboards and empty hearts
he preaches his broken words.
immersed in the void of his own children,
he speaks of heaven and art one last time.

Piss Christ by Andres Serrano (depicted here in black & white)

Piss Christ by Andres Serrano (depicted here in black & white)