Golgotha ascends her void in the
night
Jesus on the sad hill was fixed
onto the wood
and he laid his head on the cross
but the sky
Father sculpted his pale face far
away sparkles
the city surrounded by walls the
earth quaked
in the temple, the great priests,
pharisees
and scribes lay grand banquets out,
old people
women and young men as far as
they encompass
the tables milk Mardoh, sniff at smells
of fat
meals that smoke from the plates
and their jaws
work furiously cracking with
yellow slobber
on their chins and the libidinous
pieces of music
sound inciting their large intestine
swollen
with yellow fat and they all get
drunk
from son to father pell-mell they
begin to say
what a shrewd guy this Jesus was,
I drove him
away with the stones, I poked him
in the back
with the stick, but it’s me who
tore his expensive
tunic, I widened his wound with
the sword
rotating it like drill bit, I
poured vinegar
on his lips, I drove thorns of
ferrous acacia
into his head, I hammered nails
into his heart
and into his head. And the wine
also, and
the words also were foaming and
they began
to dance bouncing their paunches,
these Jews
singed by the fire of Sodom. Next
to the cross
only the white virgins sadly waft,
have descended
with coolness from the moon that
makes her face
thinner like a breath.
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