by James B. Dewey
illegal alien in Egypt
blue-collar worker in Nazareth
ran around with the wrong crowd:
fishers, freaks, the IRS
pressed like an olive
whipped like a crook
pegged on a post
even my pen bows.
My intellectual brow bows.
Thy condescension like condensation
bathes my guilty forehead,
He kicked the hell out of death.
Thou shalt call his name JESUS:
for he shall save his people from their sins.
Jesus Christ means
He is His Name
The Constant Eversame
yesterday, today, the 4th of July, all of December,
Cinco de Mayo, the day I first kissed a girl, finals week, payday,
days I don’t remember,
that one time when I was sick for two weeks straight,
this morning at 5:15, and forever.
He is I AM.
I am His.