“I feel like taking off my clothes again.” —Doug Martsch

-

I carried Jesus through the desert

until I tired and set him down by some driftwood

The holes in his feet bled 

and He diagnosed it as terminal,

I built a funeral pyre

-

Far away, a ukulele was strummed

and a Casio played a static drum loop 

-

Jesus offered me Special K and I

walked down the

steps of a

digital

audio

drum

fill

-

(later he told me it was cereal,

but I know it was finely pressed sand that

he had extracted from his sandal)

-

either way, I climbed through a k-hole,

found myself in a dim house,

by a television blaring commercials, and when

the microwave bell rang I realized

this is a place I’ve never been to.

a precise place I’ve never been to—

-

the house She would talk of

-

the room slanted and spun, a fun house,

Thanksgiving foods levitated in the air, inches above the plates

hanging suspended indefinitely, but not me—

gravity approached me from the West and I luged around

the cone shaped floor on my back

head first.

-

obviously, I awoke in the desert with Jesus

After I carbon dated Him

I discovered He had been dead for ten months

and the ten months I had spent in the room

offset my preparation for graduate school.

-

I traded my tattered sandels for His

and made steps into the desert.