Christ is sitting on a cold stone
His arse has gone to sleep
As have all his tired cronies

They’ve been walking for years
to this treacherous grove
towards this one moment

His feet tingle
Pins and needles pre-empt
the coming savagery

Out in a wilderness as usual
He sweats the blood of unanswered prayer
Fever chilled
In the Gethsemane of our time

Pissing gallons down a staining rock
Doubt racked
That corruption breeds
Feeds
on the idolatry
Of others
Envisioning another man’s kiss
Who believes the very same

Jesus trembles in the warm air
While we sleep on
Spitted
In our sinning beds
Like suckling pigs
Agog

Christ is hanging on a cut tree
His prayers have clothed us
In such love
for bloody sacrifice
He’s raised his bruised eyes to heaven
He’s giving up the ghost
The spirit
That was us