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Know not what We Do
I don’t want to live
at the tip of the thorn
in the crown scalp and skull
of Christ
up there courageous
on the wood
flesh filled
with nails
but I must
I must live with it
accept it
for our human hands
drive in the thorns
like claws like teeth
feasting
upon some dangerous
defiant radical
man-like thing
we cornered
muzzled
defeated
as little human tongues
of blood
lick trails
down His forehead
His eyes
His cheeks
and what does Christ say
to our Father
in the midst of his own
slaughter
Father
forgive them
for they know not
what they do