What was it like
to die
on Good Friday?  
Well,
back then,
it wasn’t called that — I still
don’t call it that.

I was crucified
that same day
in a town in Gaul,
and the soldiers let
the crows pick my eyes
even before I was
all the way gone…

just another day
in the Empire.

I know
there are stories about
what else happened
that day, how another
managed to get around fate
with help, maybe a sorcerer’s help,
maybe a father’s help —

I don’t know.  I’m just
a ghost of a crucified man
and when you say Good Friday
I’m clueless as to why…

so many others died that day, or before,
or after, who do not understand —
after all,
we’ve never met The Man.

Having been in his shoes
I’m skeptical,

but willing to be convinced
if it’ll get me off this vaporous cross
and give me a chance to rest.

I was a kid what did I know
only what imagination offered

a blue disk in a blue sky
was a spider biscuit resonating
was a concert hall in sections rising
was a myth as good as a country in resolve
was a story about where I lived
was noble rot on a hoped for harvest

hand me the chance anyway
I screamed for it
reached for it

a blue disk in a white sky
was a heartless monkey of change
was a blank slate falling and shattering
was ridiculous, really — really ridiculously dumb
was the most savvy rocktosser outfit ever
was not me and that was the best thing ever

but not for long as I could sense
how amusing the change was becoming
so I called it out again

a blue disk in a red sky
was a meteor of shift
was a big clown nose on a garbage can
was a tease and a poke and a hand on my bum
was the wrong drug on the wrong night
was hopelessly in love with throwing up 
was glad I was no one
was no one
was a drug
was a blue disk in a blue sky after all

invisible
what did I know I was a kid when it happened
I grew up
I miss it

I was a blue disk wrecked in a desert
was picked over
was a myth after all to most
but was the one who had to live on
knowing I wasn’t supposed to be from here
knowing I was a belonging
discarded
fallen
from
high