Prologue to a Gospel

i write with a quill
dipped in the wine
that’s pooled in the palm
of the crucified man

who might be a thief
or maybe messiah
who could be a saviour
or a skillful liar

he knows desolation
and burning desire
and knows my blood
is the colour of fire

words graved on stone
are turned to dust
i write my psalms
on reeds and skins

i write with a thorn
dipped in the blood
that’s pooled in the palm
of the risen-up man

i write with chalk
on the veins of my city
i write with blood
on the streets of my heart

i write

Ross Clark