I Redbone Jesus. How you shelter The weak Call Children Unto you. Old and infirm Memorize Your seven digits Like an idiot savant. Your mother watches Others walk by as you step up. What would Jesus do If he married himself? The two Become one On Christmas. II Unfold like Origami. Revealing The Apochrypha of Jenoyne. Mysteries You uncover Keep me deducing Which wing you will unfold next. A crocheted blanket From the cabinet. Open it and there you are Threading A new life to wear When you are cold Or incomplete. I study How you comeback like Magic In the fourth. Yet, my critical eye Is a scalpel Aimed at your choices. You ride A pole Of your own making. Then ride mine. Your freak tumbles out a closet As secrets do Before they become lies. Medusa crouches In the folds of your labia. Hoodooing my Phallus into stone. Artisan Tongue Carves an ecstatic Hieroglyph. Your right hand guides My Stonehenge Totem home.