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Alexis Quinlan
POEMS
 

Why We Are Christian #41
        (or, On the Road with Constantine, 360 c.e.)




He was riding through Gaul
leading an army through a new green
a green wetter than Venice
a green more lurid than Byzantium
a green denser than Carthage
and he looked up - he
could do what he damn well wished -
his binocular eyes were one of the reasons -
alpha male.

He was flying through France
on horseback. He stank, the ranks
stank, his own gold-festooned steed
oozed pus at the ears but he was fucking king
of Rome he was galloping Gaul for the hell
and he looked up -
it was his yonder, his blue -

                and lo!
A figure of light before the sun
a light lighter than the sun
as he was more man than men.

(And lo!) A horizontal bar rose strong
like a flag he himself might have stuck
deep in the earth to show what he owned
to show what it was (his).
Tethered to it - crudely -
permanently -
the vertical line of spirit.
Jesus H. Christ.

An inscription read: In this sign conquer.
And he could read.

   
   
   

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