jesus christ on instagram live

here are all the opinions of the zeitgeist,

velvet rings cushioning celebrity thighs,

and advertisements for useless nutritional shakes.

and here’s jesus, hanging midair (as if leaping)

as if draped. on the old wooden cross.

the image demands the screen. the witness.

the fetishists and the hard at heart found it first,

joining the stream, home-bound trout with you,

the perfect stranger to the perfect stranger.

a Roman soldier cuts into frame and lifts,

hand trembling, a knife. it slips in between

Jesus’ ribs—butter soft—and out comes milk and honey.

He watches the camera like a wounded animal

eyes the hunter and speaks through the pain,

belly distended, catching ring-light shadows.

this horrible thing happens and we all take it.

but why him? who loved his mother and his joys

and all his miracles like children of his own?

we were left to our own devices.

the only real universal truth is the old wooden cross

and the iron nails and the atoms of it all

going fractal on the screen. but somewhere

between the glass and the glow and the wires

and the child-mined battery, it reaches to hold you.

it swims as we all do. toddling like a child

towards the endless ocean. and yes, jesus wept.

but so did you, didn’t you?